


A Time to Run

by cthulhu_has_chaotic_stories (cthulhu_is_chaotic_good)



Category: Alex Rider - Anthony Horowitz
Genre: AR Febuwhump, FebuWhump2021, Gen, Impaling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 16:14:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29192130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cthulhu_is_chaotic_good/pseuds/cthulhu_has_chaotic_stories
Summary: Alex was tired of being coerced into cooperation, and tired of being used as a hostage of sorts. But most of all, he was tired of the game of capture the spy that Yassen and MI6 were currently playing across half of Europe.
Comments: 23
Kudos: 102
Collections: AR Febuwhump 2021





	A Time to Run

**Author's Note:**

> I’m afraid I wrote a mess of a story. 
> 
> That said, the story is much the better thanks to several individuals. I hold the biggest debt of gratitude to DaniWib, TheInverseUniverse, and lanluluto for beta-ing parts of the story and offering much needed feedback.

For more than the past year, Alex Rider’s life had featured a series of events so implausible that he hadn’t even been surprised to see a man he’d thought dead standing outside his school at the end of an ordinary cloudy Tuesday afternoon.

Alex had made it worse by walking up to Yassen Gregorovich of his own volition, wondering what the man wanted. He should have expected that their reunion wouldn’t be a happy one.

Calmly, Yassen had explained that Alex would be joining him for a trip. Just as calmly, he had moved the corner of his jacket back to show the hint of a gun. The implied threat – not just to himself, but to those around him - had been enough to coerce Alex into the waiting car.

The car ride down to the coast had been tense and quiet, with Yassen steadfastly refusing to Alex’s questions. Halfway to the coast, stopped at a service station, Yassen had turned the radio to a local news station.

It wasn’t until right before they reached the coast, as night fell, that the news reported the bombing of the Royal and General Bank in London and a hole of anxiety began to form in Alex’s stomach.

Yassen hadn’t spoken, other than to tell Alex to quiet and listen to the story. 

The story wasn’t pretty. People had been hurt; had been killed. Alex had listened, horrorstruck, until they reached the coastal village where a man was waiting with a boat to sail them across the channel.

Despite the circumstances, Alex drifted off in the car they transferred into once they’d arrived in France.

When he woke, they had parked in front of a house that appeared perfectly ordinary, given the surroundings. There weren’t snipers on the roof or ominous messages on the welcome mat, anyway. The interior of the house could have been a model home: there were no personal photos on the walls, and no clutter anywhere. Alex suspected no one lived in the house.

He was told to sit in the sitting room, after taking his shoes off in the entrance. Yassen kept his shoes on.

It was only sitting on the couch, fidgeting, that Alex allowed himself to accept the reality: whatever the situation he’d landed in, it was trouble - an unfamiliar trouble he hadn’t been prepared for. There’d been no MI6 briefings and no suspicious circumstances that he’d decided to investigate. He didn’t know what to expect, leaving him unable to make mental preparations for whatever was coming. Instead, he’d been dragged somewhere in France, his muscles sore from dozing in a car. He wanted to brush his teeth and he wanted a warm shower. Most of all, he wanted someone to explain what was happening.

A woman entered the sitting room where Alex was being stared down by Yassen, who was standing against the archway they’d entered in from. “Coffee?” She asked in English.

“Yes,” Alex said.

Yassen shook his head. “Let him know we’re here.”

“He knows. He’ll be down shortly. It’ll just be a moment.”

He, or the man Alex assumed they had been talking about, entered the sitting room not long after Alex abandoned his empty mug onto the table beside the couch. The man walked in, carrying a well-made briefcase, and immediately Alex knew they hadn’t met before. The stranger was tall, well-tanned, with brown eyes and a crooked nose that implied that it had once been broken. Few would call him handsome, although he would blend into a crowd easily enough.

The man took a seat across from Alex, and rested the briefcase by his feet.

“This is MI6’s star pupil?” the man asked. His accent was not French. It may have been Norwegian or Swedish – certainly, the accent came from Northern Europe.

“Yes. Alex Rider,” Yassen supplied.

“He didn’t cause trouble while getting here?”

“No.”

“Good.” The man examined Alex. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Alex. You don’t need to know my name. All you need to know is that we share a commonality. One that defines us, as a matter of fact.”

“We both like video games?” Alex guessed, filling the expectant pause after the man’s words.

The man didn’t smile. “Laugh, but this is not a laughing matter.”

Alex felt far from laughing himself. His casual abduction from the steps of his school, a country away, was enough to indicate dire circumstances.

“You see,” the man expanded, “We both have had our lives ruined by MI6.”

Alex wanted to protest that MI6 hadn’t ruined his life. The words failed him.

At last, he decided on a different tact. “How did they ruin your life?”

“What matters more to this is how they ruined your life,” the stranger responded. “You were a child. They turned you into a spy, and used you to wreak their vengeance on the criminal world. A world that I very much belong to, now, because of your owners.”

“I didn’t have anything to do with that,” Alex said, praying he was right.

“You’re absolutely right. You didn’t.”

That cleared nothing up. Alex couldn’t guess what the man intended without knowing anything about him. “You bombed MI6.”

“Specifically, I bombed the office of their Special Operations. I hope you aren’t too sorry about that, not after they dragged you into everything.”

“I’m sorry that people are dead.”

“It’s regrettable,” the man said. “But to achieve my contract, it was necessary.”

“I don’t agree.”

A shark’s smile spread over the man’s face. “I didn’t have you brought here to agree with me.”

“I don’t want to join your organization either,” Alex said, making a guess. “It didn’t go well when SCORPIA recruited me.”

The man chuckled. “You are also not being offered a place in my organization.”

Alex frowned. “Then why am I here?” Surely better conversation partners could be seized off the street.

“You are here because you are valuable to MI6, of course. In ruining your life, you became their most valuable asset. I would be remiss to ignore the potential you offer.”

“What, do you want to ransom me off?”

“No, Alex, I don’t.”

Alex was getting frustrated. No part of this conversation made sense, and it felt as if they were talking circles around each other. “Tell me why I’m here then! I didn’t do anything to get in the way of whatever you’re planning, and I didn’t even know anything was going to happen!”

The man leaned back in his chair, offering his hands up in a placating gesture. “Alright. I will tell you everything that you need to know. But first, let me tell you about myself. I want you to understand why I took this job, this contract, against the men and women that use you as a spy.”

“I grew up in a middle class family, wanting for nothing. But I knew I could achieve more. When I was just out of university, a business opportunity presented itself that promised to make me a significant fortune.”

“Why do I have the feeling the opportunity wasn’t legal?” Alex interrupted.

“Don’t be so crass. The opportunity may not have been perfectly legitimate, but few businesses are wholly legitimate. Not truly, although the young may still be idealistic enough to believe to the contrary. I was not a child at that point, though. I knew I could take advantage of the opportunity, and make my way in the world. So, I accepted the opportunity.”

“And then it went wrong and turned to kidnapping instead?”

“Not quite, although it did go wrong. Complications emerged. I worked tirelessly to save the opportunity I had been given. And I found a partner who was willing to sponsor my burgeoning endeavors – a young group at the time, called SCORPIA.”

Alex resisted the urge to tell the man to get to the point.

“You may know, Alex, that MI6 and SCORPIA don’t get along.”

Yes, Alex thought he knew that fact.

“MI6 wanted me out of the picture. In their eyes, I was collaborating with terrorists, and a danger to the British public. In truth, I never came close to harming anyone! The extent of my involvement with SCORPIA involved me washing money. But the truth didn’t matter to MI6. They framed me as a threat to security, and doctored evidence to make me appear a public menace. Their manufactured evidence secured me ten years behind bars in a country where I did business. Can you imagine the horrors of prison in Eastern Europe, all on trumped up charges?”

Alex crossed his arms. He didn’t know whether the man told the truth about doctored evidence. He didn’t truly care. No part of the story could excuse hurting and kidnapping people.

“It is now much later than all of that, of course. Hopefully, you can understand why I would be cross with MI6. They stole years of my life from me, and I’ll never get them back!”

The man’s face flushed red as he spoke, anger injecting itself into his voice. Then he took a deep breath, and let it out. Calmer, he continued. “Ironically, it is because of my time in prison that I’m here today. I left that wretched place much more well connected to the industries that make people significant fortunes quickly.”

“I don’t think you turning evil is because of MI6,” Alex said. “And if you’re out of prison now, and well connected, then they didn’t ruin your life.”

The man shrugged. “We disagree. It’s alright. I didn’t expect you would understand my life story; we come from different backgrounds. What I want you to understand is that when one of the former executives of SCORPIA approached me with a contract to exact revenge on MI6, I had every reason to accept. That former executive plans to pay me significant amounts to harm the agency that hurt me, bit by bit. And I plan to comply. I will kill their agents, and drag the agency in front of the press, revealing their weakness. I began work on my plans the moment the contract was offered to me, with a delighted grin on my face. And then I hired Yassen.”

Alex glanced towards the archway, where Yassen was standing.

“He also had a reason to resent MI6. And he advised that some of my plans may work better if MI6 was distracted, perhaps by the disappearance of their star agent. We decided on a plan to send some of their agents out of the way while I continued to harangue them. To send some of their agents off to chase _you_.”

“I’m not on the run.”

“No. But you will be. You will be traveling around for the next while, enjoying the hospitality of many of Europe’s finest countries, until my attacks are complete, ten days from now.”

Alex didn’t understand. Did the man expect that Alex would go along with this plan? “I’m not interested in a road trip, thanks.”

“My plan doesn’t require you to be interested. I have you, and you will do what I say, following my simple enough plan. I will send MI6 a message that they have ten days to rescue you, or I will have you killed. They’ll know it’s a distraction. I’m not being subtle. But I also believe they will try to save you. It would be such a waste for them to lose you now, at the height of your use to them.”

The man reached for the briefcase by his foot. He placed the briefcase on his lap, and opened it. Inside were four small cardboard boxes, and a Ziplock bag with a hand-sized device. “Which brings me to these. I’ve heard you’re quite the runner, Alex. Quite the brave little soul. And while you’re providing a distraction, I really can’t afford to lose you.” The man opened one of the boxes, and pulled out an opened metal cuff, about three centimeters wide, and slimmer than a set of standard handcuffs. “Put this on your right wrist. It locks automatically.”

Alex got up to take the cuff from the man. Instead of putting it on, he inspected the object. The locking mechanism was hidden into the design – there was a place for the cuff to latch into itself, but no obvious lock. And it looked as if it would fit only slightly loose once closed. On the inside of the metal band were the imprints of four odd circles, placed an equidistance apart. He ran a finger over one of the circles.

“Oh, would you like to see what it does?” the man asked.

He didn’t. But the man wanted to show him. Mutely, Alex nodded.

The man reached for the bag and opened it, pulling out the device. “This is the remote I’ll be giving to Yassen in just a few minutes,” he said. “And I would recommend taking your fingers out from the middle.”

Alex shut the open cuff, and placed it flat on his palm. The man pressed two buttons on the remote. From the four circles on the interior of the cuff, sharp one-centimeter long metal spikes shot out. Alex jerked his hand back, and the cuff fell to the floor. The man chuckled, and pressed another two buttons again. The spikes retracted, just as quickly as they’d appeared. “It’s a gift from a SCORPIA engineer.”

“I’m not wearing that!”

Yassen spoke for the first time. “Yes. You are. All of them.”

The three unopened boxes in the briefcase loomed much more ominously than a moment before.

“The cuffs open easily enough,” the man said. “All it takes is two quick taps of the remote to unlock them.” He pressed another two buttons, and the cuff on the floor popped open. “They have quite a long range on them as well; they’ll receive an order from up to two kilometers away.”

“No,” Alex said. “I don’t care what you do.” If he wore those cuffs, the moment he tried to escape, all Yassen had to do was press a button and Alex would start a countdown to death.

“The alternative is I put them on for you,” Yassen said.

The man began to open another of the boxes. Alex took a step back, away from the cuff lying on the floor.

“I won’t run away,” Alex promised.

“You would try, if there weren’t consequences.”

The man started to open the third box. The second box was open, revealing inside a similar cuff, taunting Alex, staring him down from the inside of the briefcase.

Yassen stepped forward. Alex took another step back, away from Yassen and the man. Yassen rested his hand on the outside of his jacket, where his gun must have been holstered. “Alex.”

“ _Please_ ,” Alex tried. “Don’t make me wear them.”

“Enough stalling.”

Slowly, dragging the movement out, Alex went to retrieve the fallen cuff. When he picked it up, knowing what it had the potential to do, the cuff seemed almost too light to be the tortuous instrument that it could be.

“Put it on.”

Gritting his teeth, Alex placed it around his wrist and left it open, dangling, off his arm.

The man was irritated now. “Close it.”

The cuff closed with a small snapping sound. When Alex tried to open it again, it didn’t budge.

“Now get the rest and put them on.”

Moments later, Alex had unremovable implements of death around both wrists and both ankles. He was trapped. The man handed the remote to Yassen. “I expect updates on the chase.”

Yassen pocketed the remote. “We’ll be leaving in a few hours.”

“I’ll call MI6 to let them know to be on the lookout,” the man said. He turned to Alex. “It was nice to meet you. I’ve wanted to put a face to the name for so long. It is a shame that MI6 decided to drag you into this world. Your life could have been uneventful without them. I hope that you realize this, and blame the right people for the terrors you’ve seen in your life.”

“MI6 didn’t bring me here,” Alex responded.

“If you say so,” the man said. “Try not to cause problems on the trip. I don’t have any grudge against you; despite what I am telling MI6, I told Yassen he could let you go at the end of this, if he feels so inclined. Although the offer only stands if you’re still alive, of course.”

Alex couldn’t bring himself to give a response, let alone a polite one.

Upstairs, one room was a bedroom with a single small bed in the middle of the room. There were backpacks on the wall.

“The grey one is yours,” Yassen said. “You’re responsible for keeping track of it. It has clothes, a towel, and toiletries.”

Alex nodded, still without speaking.

“You have five minutes to use the restroom.”

Grabbing the bag, Alex locked himself in the bathroom.

Minutes later, when Yassen knocked to tell him his time was up, Alex felt worse than he had before. A quick rifle through the bag had shown nothing that could be useful. And a close inspection of the cuffs didn’t show a keyhole to pick the lock open.

Yassen had brought a chair into the room while Alex had been in the restroom. And rope.

“I’m going to sleep,” Yassen said, steadily. “You can rest if you want, but you will be sitting here while you do so.”

Alex dropped his bag against the wall again and sat down. He held his hands out and Yassen wrapped the rope around his wrists and the cuffs and then secured his wrists to the chair. It was not the sort of knot that could be easily disturbed, based on what Alex knew.

Restrained, Alex could only watch helplessly as Yassen removed his boots, disappeared into the restroom for long enough to shower, and then climbed into bed. Before the man laid down, he left the remote to Alex’s cuffs on a nightside table. Alex’s eyes, unbidden, flew to the remote.

His eyes stayed on the remote, considering, while Yassen slept. The more he thought about the small device, the more panicked Alex became. What if the device ran out of batteries? If Yassen was going to keep it in his pocket, what if a button was pressed on accident? If the worst happened, and Alex suddenly had sixteen stab wounds to contend with – four on each limb – he would need a hospital urgently. And he had no assurances that anyone would take him to one. Yassen might well leave him to die alone, in terrible pain, wherever it had occurred!

Hours ticked by at a crawl. When Yassen eventually woke in late morning, Alex had readied his questions. He asked the first as soon as Yassen’s eyes opened, before the man even sat up.

“What happens if there’s an accident, and you sit on the button that lets the spikes stab me?”

“There won’t be any accidents,” Yassen said.

The words didn’t reassure. “How do you _know_?”

“The buttons are coded to certain fingerprints. Sitting on the buttons won’t activate them.”

Alex’s heart dropped.

Yassen read Alex’s expression. “No, it would not be possible to steal the remote and let yourself free.”

“What about if it runs out of batteries?” In other words, Alex meant, would the spikes activate in that case?

Yassen seemed to understand. “Does running out of batteries on a television remote activate a television?”

Alex shook his head.

“Then calm down.”

It was easy for Yassen to tell him to be calm, Alex thought bitterly as he was untied and led downstairs. Yassen wasn’t the one with spikes ready to pierce his skin.

“Why are you doing this?” Alex asked over a lunch served to them by the woman from before. “It doesn’t even sound like it would work. They were bombed! MI6 isn’t going to send people after me. Especially when it’s obviously a distraction.”

Yassen studied a map wordlessly.

While he was ignored, Alex’s thoughts raced, frantically forming the outline of a plan: cooperate. Gather intelligence. See if Yassen left the remote unattended. From there, Alex would figure out what to do next.

His thoughts must have been predictable. As the dishes from lunch were being cleared away, Yassen warned him that the consequences of causing problems while they traveled would be severe. Alex had agreed that he understood. Not that disagreement could be an option, considering the steel bracelets he wore.

The cuffs didn’t hurt, but the thought of their potential was torture enough.

Day One

The first afternoon of travel passed without incident, with Alex compliantly following the directions he was given.

They took the car they’d arrived in that morning to a train station. Yassen didn’t explain where they were going. Alex didn’t ask. The tickets Yassen bought said their destination was the Gare du Nord station in Paris, but, having been to that station before, Alex knew it was likely they were only headed there for a transfer.

The train they boarded was nearly empty. Yassen directed them into a row at the back of the car, near the emergency exit. Soon after, the thrum of the train started again, and they were on their way.

Outside the window, French villages rushed by, old churches often reaching over the rooftops of the houses and shops. Yassen reached for his bag in front of him and pulled out a paperback.

The journey of a few hours passed without conversation. Yassen’s only interactions with him were to glance pointedly at the cuffs around his wrists when Alex slipped his jacket off halfway through the journey. Alex took in the message and put his jacket back on, making sure the sleeves obscured the cuffs once again.

Paris was not their final destination. When they arrived at Gare du Nord, Yassen led Alex around the station, seemingly in an erratic path. Alex wondered about it when Yassen had them double back through one crowded hallway of people. Did they take a wrong turn? Surely Yassen knew where they were going. When they reached a set of ticket booths, Yassen bought their next tickets - to Bruges.

The trip to Bruges was much longer than the trip from Caen had been. Again, Yassen and Alex didn’t speak. The other passengers surrounding them prevented Alex from asking his countless questions: _why are you doing this, what have I done to you, do you hate me._ Alex stared out of the window to occupy his time, watching the sky get dark as night arrived. He wondered if Jack knew that he’d been taken. She must; Mrs. Jones would have had to tell her something.

Their hotel in the middle of the city was next to a river, and the room’s windows overlooked a scenic bridge. The moon outside was high overhead, casting a beautiful glimmer over the spring city. Alex wished he could have enjoyed being a tourist here. Instead, he was trapped in a hotel and currently regretting not haven eaten more of the sandwich he’d been given on the train. His stomach felt empty, and he suspected Yassen wasn’t about to order him room service.

“Shower,” Yassen instructed. “We need to go over the details on our passports after that, and then you’re going to sleep.”

Alex stayed seated on the edge of his bed.

“Yes?” Yassen questioned.

“I need to ask you something,” Alex said. He hoped this time Yassen would answer him. When Yassen looked at him expectantly, Alex asked, “What do you get out of this?”

“Money,” Yassen responded, as if it were obvious.

“You’re going to drag me around Europe for money? Hoping that MI6 will set agents after me, and then what?”

“They will send agents after you. MI6 received a call this morning saying you would be dead soon without their intervention.”

“They’ll know I’m a distraction, and they won’t know where to find me,” Alex objected.

“We walked through half of the cameras in the Gare du Nord station alone. Believe me, Alex, they will have clues as to where you are.”

“That doesn’t mean they’ll chase me. People died yesterday! I’m not their main priority.” This whole plot was nonsense, in Alex’s opinion. MI6 didn’t care what happened to him. If they were told they had ten days to rescue him, they would expect him to have ten days to escape.

“You underestimate your importance. They only have one child spy.”

Yassen didn’t know MI6. Not like Alex did. They had abandoned him at Point Blanc, and been absent countless other times when he had needed assistance. That was without a bomb at their front doorsteps.

Then again, that had all been under Mr. Blunt. Perhaps now, with Mrs. Jones at the helm of Special Operations, it might be different. That was one spark of hope, although not one he’d cling to unless he saw signs of MI6’s presence.

“Then what?” Alex repeated.

“Then I have created a distraction, and I am paid. Perhaps I can get rid of some agents along the way, although I think we will attract less attention if I don’t need to use force.”

“What about me?”

“What about you? You will cooperate, and then, when I have been told that my employer is satisfied his operations have gone well in ten days’ time, I will let you free. Cooperate and you will be fine.”

“What if I don’t?”

Yassen leaned forward and tapped one of the cuffs on Alex’s wrists. “You already know that these are not decorative.”

The casual reminder of coming cruelty should he disobey scared him more than he wanted to admit.

“This is not a personal revenge,” Yassen said. “I’m sure to you it must feel like one. But I was approached with an offer, and asked to help carry out an operation. I accepted.”

“Why me?” Alex asked, despair threatening to overwhelm him.

“That’s enough,” Yassen dismissed. “You’ve asked your questions. I have told you all that you need to know. Tomorrow morning, we will spend some time emphasizing the consequences of disobeying me. Until then, shower, and get ready for bed.”

Alex memorized two cover identities until he could recite them to Yassen without looking at the passports for each identity. And then he was bound so that walking would be impossible, and left to sleep. Instead, he lay awake, the threat of consequences floating through his head.

Day Two

A sign above the wide archway embedded in the wall outside the building entrance labelled their first destination of the day.

“You’re a sadist,” Alex muttered.

“Come along, Alex,” Yassen said, continuing to approach the threateningly named Torture Museum.

Alex reluctantly followed, sending a sideways glance at the American couple giggling as they posed for a photo with the stocks outside the museum.

The devices inside the museum were exactly as medieval as Alex had expected. A chair covered in spikes menaced Alex from the corner. Alex grimaced and turned to face the uncanny wax statues in the other corner of the room. The statues were a mockery of humans, but at least they wouldn’t remind him of the uncomfortable restraints that he was hiding under his sleeves and trouser legs.

“Alex,” Yassen called from meters away. “Read this.” He gestured towards a small card next to two leg cuffs. Each cuff had a nail on the outside of the cuff, ready to be twisted into the leg of whoever was wearing the cuffs. Alex, paling, approached, and read the card. “Out loud,” Yassen instructed.

“Why?”

“Alex.” There was no arguing with that tone.

In a low voice, Alex did.

Agony boots, the card read, were used to exact confessions from prisoners. There were many variants. This example of agony boots relied on sharp nails being tightened into the cuff, driving into a prisoner’s leg until they confessed.

Interrupting the description was an illustration of a man wearing the boots and screaming. Alex stopped reading and blanched.

“Painful,” Yassen remarked. “Continue.” When Alex didn’t immediately comply, Yassen warned, “Don’t irritate me, little Alex.”

Alex grimaced and resumed his narration of the boots.

Yassen dragged Alex around the rest of the museum at a snail’s pace, stopping every so often to request that Alex read a particularly grisly description. Around them, tourists were remarking over the awful instruments, exclaiming at how painful the devices must be, and occasionally laughing at dark jokes.

More than a few of the implements of terror involved spikes.

Alex felt sick.

He had never been so grateful to reach the end of a museum. When Yassen brought them back out into the street, surrounded by the tall and pointed Belgian houses, Alex took a deep, steadying breath.

“Where now?” Alex asked, attempting, poorly, to appear unphased by where they’d just been.

Where now ended up being a lunch at a famous café, followed by a tour of an art museum bordering the river, a walking tour of the city where the rest of the jovial tourists appeared to be having a grand time, and a short bus ride to a famous park. Alex spoke only when spoken to, still shaken by the morning’s visit. Yassen, for his part, appeared unbothered by Alex’s quiet. He had participated in the walking tour, asking questions of the tour guide, and smiling at some of the jokes said by the jovial Czech visitor.

By the time they arrived at that night’s hotel, Alex was thoroughly exhausted. Checking in seemed to drag by at a snail’s pace.

The hotel clerk smiled at Alex. “You look as if you’ve had a long day. Did you just arrive in the city?”

“We arrived yesterday,” Yassen said.

“Welcome to Bruges! It’s a beautiful place.”

Smiling patiently, Yassen handed over a credit card to pay for their stay. “We went to a few museums today. They were entertaining enough.”

“Which ones?”

“The Groeninge Museum and the Torture Museum was first.”

“Oh, the torture museum is one of the more interesting museums we have. I’ve been once, and enjoyed it. Isn’t it interesting?”

“If you’re a psychopath, sure,” Alex responded.

The clerk’s cheery smile faltered. Yassen reached over and squeezed Alex’s shoulder - a clear warning. “Apologies. We’ve had a long day.”

Alex tuned out the rest of the check in. At the room, he headed to the furthest bed and collapsed into it. He wanted to crawl under the covers and hide, but he refused to appear scared. Beside him, Alex heard Yassen turn on the television.

The German news station became distant background noise as Alex drifted in and out of a restless nap. Dimly, after dozing through an hour, he registered a light hand on his shoulder.

“Alex,” Yassen said.

It took a few seconds to rouse himself completely. “What?”

Yassen nodded at a folded paper menu on the night table next to him. “Choose what you want for dinner. I’ll order it soon.”

He didn’t care what he ate. He picked up the pen that always seemed to be on every hotel nightstand and circled, almost randomly, a picture of an American burger before placing it back on the stand. “Is this what it’s always going to be like?” Alex asked.

“What do you mean?”

“I know you’re taking me places where cameras will see us. Tourist spots. Museums. Is this going to continue to be you dragging me places where I have to pretend to have fun?”

“You don’t have to pretend to have fun.”

“But I have to cooperate.” Alex put a hand on his left cuff. “Or, you know. These become worse.”

“Are they hurting you now?”

“They’re not _comfortable_.”

“You’ll survive.” Yassen didn’t care, obviously.

“I thought this wasn’t a personal revenge,” Alex said. “The first museum was personal.”

“The museum ensured that you understood consequences. That was all.”

“You made me read what had happened to the victims.” And Yassen had been aware that Alex had been uncomfortable – that he had wanted to ignore where they were. Had wanted to ignore what he was wearing on his wrists and ankles.

“It would serve you well to understand that there are worse things than death.”

“I know there are worse things than death. I’m here with you.”

“My employer’s original idea, when your name was brought up, simply involved having you killed. Would you have preferred that?”

“I’d have preferred you didn’t drag me into this.”

“The people who hired my employer mentioned you specifically. My employer told me to kill you. I suggested that perhaps he could use you as a distraction instead. I convinced him that you are barely more than a victim of MI6 yourself.”

“You think he cares? He’ll still tell you to kill me.”

“I have no interest in that.”

The man in France had mentioned that Alex might be released at the end of this. Yassen had said the same. Alex hadn’t believed them, but now, perhaps, there was a glimmer of hope. If Yassen still refused to kill Alex – if he still thought he had some connection to Alex, through his father or otherwise – maybe there really was an agreement to let him go free when the ten days were up.

“Promise to let me go, then. Even if they don’t rescue me.”

“They won’t rescue you. And yes, I intend to let you go.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Why not?”

“No one will hire you if you let me go after threatening to kill me.”

“I’m being paid a significant amount to create a distraction. I will have no need to work, after this.”

The words, while barely a reassurance, helped. Without Yassen’s professional reputation on the line, perhaps Alex would be freed, and this truly had been Yassen’s attempt to save his life. The human part of Yassen that existed in the man’s otherwise reptilian assassin brain had bargained to save Alex, at a price of kidnapping him and hauling him around Europe in almost literal chains, a wild goose chase distraction as MI6 dealt with an opponent determined to damage them.

“Are your questions finished?” Yassen asked. He held up the menu, as if to remind Alex that he intended to order food for them.

“Yeah,” Alex admitted. His brain was elsewhere now, worrying at him with thoughts of attacks that Alex could do nothing to stop. “They’re finished.”

Day Three

They had breakfast that morning in the main square, called the Markt. In the middle of the market square, a tall statue was surrounded by colorful flags. The shadow of a bell tower fell across the square, and tourists walked around the terrace they were dining at, looking to all the world to be enjoying the spring weather despite a slight chill. Yassen, wearing sunglasses and a leather jacket, could be one of many European tourists in the square, and Alex could easily be his younger relative.

Alex hated it.

Yassen, glancing around the square, was leaving Alex to sulk in favor of keeping a watchful eye on the surroundings. Not that the surroundings demanded attention. From what Alex could see, absolutely no one in the square was paying them any mind.

“Where are we going today?” Alex asked, unenthusiastically.

“To the train station.”

“That’s so helpful. Are we going somewhere from the train station?”

“Yes.”

“Ok.” Alex waited a heartbeat. “Where?”

“Did you have a destination you hoped for?”

Alex scowled. “No, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care where we go.”

“We are going where I decide to go,” Yassen said. “That’s all you need to know.”

Where they were going was Frankfurt, by way of Brussels.

The trip to Germany was uneventful and, despite the newspaper he found to read, boring. Alex suspected the entire trip would be. MI6, he was convinced, did not think as highly of him as Yassen and his employer. Whatever attacks they were facing – and the newspaper didn’t seem to have mention of any besides the bombing – had to be of more importance than rescuing Alex. He wouldn’t even blame MI6 for putting their resources elsewhere.

It was at the Frankfurt train station that he was proven wrong.

They were walking to the exit, Alex dodging around all the other passengers that Yassen seemed to seamlessly avoid, when Yassen slowed to a stop next to a large map of the underground. Alex caught up to him. “Still,” Yassen said, quietly.

“I’m stopped,” Alex pointed out.

“We’re being watched.” Yassen tilted his head, as if he was examining a potential train path. “Behind us; the couple who are holding hands.”

The couple was easy to spot. The two men, in their early thirties, were stopped meters back, holding hands and looking at another map on the wall. They weren’t looking at Alex.

“They’re not even looking at us,” Alex protested. Yassen, from what he could tell, had picked the men at random. Nothing identified them as agents.

At that moment, the younger looking man in the couple glanced over. Yassen, without warning, grabbed the handle of the Alex’s backpack and began walking swiftly, dragging Alex along for the seconds it took for him to recover his footing. Yassen let go of his bag when it was clear that Alex was keeping pace with him.

They ducked into a stairwell down to the underground. Yassen bought them two tickets. Alex looked around. Behind them, the couple was charging down the stairs, both men now visibly in a less romantic mood than they had been moments earlier.

Yassen handed a ticket to Alex and all but pushed him through the entranceway to the metro. One of the pursuing agents took a step towards them, then saw a man in a uniform standing beside the lines into the underground. The other man went directly towards the ticketing booths.

Yassen put a hand on Alex’s shoulder and propelled him to the edge of the platform. In front of them, a train was just pulling in.

The doors opened. Tired businessmen and women poured out. Alex and Yassen got in.

The two agents made it onto the platform just as the train, doors firmly shut, began to pull away.

That night, sitting cross legged against another hotel bed and eating the Turkish takeout they’d gotten on the way there, Alex began to question just how far MI6 would take things. The agents earlier could have only rescued him by resorting to violence in the middle of the station.

“Aren’t you worried about getting shot again?” Alex asked.

Yassen didn’t look over from the English news channel he was watching. “No. They aren’t going to shoot me when a crowd of people can identify the culprit.”

“They could set up a sniper to take you out and rescue me.”

“They could try if they knew where we were going to be next. They could try many things if our path forward was clear. It’s not.”

That was a fair point. They hadn’t been anywhere twice so far. Even in Bruges they’d stayed in a different hotel both nights. “What if they do, though?” Alex asked.

“Why are you asking?”

Alex bit his lip.

Yassen looked over, finally. “I’ll assume it’s not because of a deep seated worry about my health.”

“You said the remote was fingerprint activated.”

“Yes.”

“If you _are_ killed, what happens?” Unless Yassen was lying about the fingerprint activation.

“If I’m killed, my body will still be there,” Yassen answered, flatly. “I’m sure you will figure it out.”

Alex drew his jacket closer to himself.

Yassen raised an eyebrow. He reached into his pocket, and drew out the remote. Wordlessly, he tossed it to Alex.

Alex scrambled to not let the remote hit the floor. When he caught it, he looked at the device. It had four labelled buttons on the top half, and another four on the bottom half. Each button was roughly the size of a small grape.

The top four buttons read, in two neat rows of two, wrist left, wrist right, ankle left, ankle right. The bottom four buttons read, in another two rows of two, damage, release, decrease, and increase.

He pressed release.

Nothing happened.

Wait, no. The man earlier had pressed two buttons to open the cuff. Alex, tentatively, placed a finger over the button for his right wrist.

He hoped he wasn’t wrong. 

He pressed the button labelled for that wrist, then release.

Nothing happened.

“If your fingerprints were coded into it, that would work,” Yassen affirmed. He held his hand out to take back the remote.

Alex kept the remote clutched in his hand. “What about the other controls?”

“Damage does what you saw in France.”

“What about the increase and decrease buttons?”

Yassen gestured with his hand. Alex, grudgingly, returned the device.

“One is for if you misbehave. The other is for when I am done punishing you.”

“I don’t understand.”

Yassen took a step closer, and took Alex by the right wrist. He moved the sleeve, so Alex’s cuff was obvious. “Watch.” Yassen pressed the button for Alex’s right wrist. This time a small red dot that Alex hadn’t noticed before lit up, at the top of the device. Then he pressed increase.

Small pinpricks attacked Alex’s wrist from four directions. Alex inhaled, sharply.

Out of the interior of the cuff, the spikes were – barely – peaking out of the cuff material. The spikes weren’t pushing in far enough to do damage to his skin, but another millimeter and they would be. As it stood, they were merely _incredibly_ unpleasant.

Yassen pressed the right wrist button again, and then decrease. The points of the spikes retracted into the steel. “The spikes will extend until their full length in increments if I give the command. Thankfully, it has not proven necessary.”

Alex gaped. “Who designed that?”

“A former SCORPIA engineer.”

“You can’t use it like that!”

“I can.”

“Don’t,” Alex said. His words weren’t quite begging. They also weren’t quite _not_.

“That depends on you.”

Yassen wasn’t a patient man. Alex knew that; he’d known it since Cornwall. Alex, disquieted by the thought that he might irritate Yassen with his questions, resumed eating. He watched the news as well, waiting to see if anything that resembled an attack on MI6 would come up.

It was only later, lying in bed as the clock ticked to midnight, still wide awake despite his exhaustion, that the confidence to ask questions returned.

Yassen was awake as well, and reading in his bed. Alex dragged himself up into a seated position, or as near as he could get with a rope tying his ankles to the bedframe.

“What if they decide I’m not worth the resources?”

There was a long lull before Yassen responded. Possibly Yassen had taken a moment to deliberate whether he was going to answer at all.

“I find that unlikely. But perhaps they will. Do you think they’ll decide to leave you?”

“I don’t know.”

“If they think that you’re worth so little to them, perhaps you should reconsider helping them the next time they offer you a job.”

It was hilarious that Yassen thought MI6 _asked._

But it answered the question, in a way. He had been turned into the bait for a distraction, and Yassen didn’t seem to care that the bait could be ignored by MI6 just as easily as it could be taken.

Alex, after making a face, settled into the bed to try and fall asleep.

Day Four

The morning began normally enough, considering the situation. Yassen had, before checking them out, gotten a recommendation from the hotel concierge on a casual breakfast eatery near a large mall. While waiting for food, Yassen had even attempted to start a conversation. Alex was entirely sure that it was because every other table in the small restaurant featured chattering people who had gotten themselves to a restaurant for breakfast earlier than Alex would have chosen to be awake, if he’d had any choice in the matter. Yassen, much to Alex’s annoyance, was enough of a morning person to keep the topic of school alive much longer than it deserved to be, given that Alex’s only responses were single words punctuated with a glare.

Their tail of the day became clear almost immediately after breakfast. Alex wasn’t sure how they’d been found. Did MI6 really possess the ability to break into every camera feed that they crossed? This wasn’t a movie where cross analysis of camera streams would immediately uncover the whereabouts of a target. Or was it?

Either way, as Yassen led them through the mall, stopping occasionally as they pretended to look at one window display or another, it was readily apparent that the woman in the tan trench coat following two shops behind them at any given instant was not in the mall for a birthday gift. Personally, Alex had hoped that any MI6 agents following them would have been able to find a better costume to blend into the icy spring day. Although no one accustomed to MI6’s style could accuse them of subtlety.

“Are we going to try and lose her?” Alex asked, once it became clear that Yassen wasn’t leading them out of the mall.

“Lose who?” Yassen questioned, mildly, as he stopped them at the back of a Starbuck’s line.

“I know you’ve seen her.”

“Oh,” Yassen said, without interest. “The woman.”

Was there a man as well? Alex glanced around the mall, trying to notice anyone he might have spotted before.

“One of the men from the train station,” Yassen said. “Reading on the bench. He’s wearing glasses.”

A man with glasses was sitting outside the bookstore and reading, it was true. But was it one of the men from yesterday?

“Stop staring.”

“What, you don’t want me to wave and say hi?” Alex asked, sarcastically.

Yassen put a hand on Alex’s shoulders and turned him to face the rest of the line. “Decide what you want.”

“I don’t want anything here.” It would be harder to run if he was holding a cup of coffee. “What I want is to go home. I want these cuffs off. Are you going to do that?”

Yassen raised an eyebrow. In other words, _no_.

“Make it less obvious that you know they’re following us, and, unless you change the subject, do it quietly.”

“I guess you’re not bothered by caffeine,” Alex muttered, once Yassen received the ridiculously large coffee that he’d ordered.

Finally, Yassen started them towards the grand entrance to the mall. Alex glanced behind them. The man reading by the bookshop was getting up as well. Along the side of the large space, the woman in the trench coat started towards the entrance as well.

“They’re both following us,” Alex reported.

“I’m aware.”

Alex felt his sense of nervousness increase. He should be rooting for the MI6 agents. But what if they ended up truly cornered? Alex would be the hostage. He’d be the one with the gun pressed to his head. It had to be better for everyone if Yassen got them out of here, and quickly. “They’re going to catch up to us.”

“They’re waiting for backup. And they aren’t going to take a shot here, in front of this many people.”

The mall, while not empty, could not exactly claim to be crowded. At least not for a Saturday. There could certainly be a lot more witnesses.

“I thought you said I was important to them,” Alex objected.

“Not if rescuing you causes an international incident.”

Alex scowled. But as minutes passed while they waited for the taxi that Yassen had called, it seemed Yassen was right. Neither of the people following them were about to open fire or directly accost them. At least, not in the middle of a street full of shoppers.

Their taxi driver was a chatty recent immigrant to Germany, who spoke English with a Middle Eastern accent. He wanted to know where they were from and what they were doing in town. Yassen spun lies about the two of them visiting from England for vacation, while Alex twisted in his seat to look out the rear windows, trying to spot if either of their tails had managed to follow the taxi.

The train station was just as busy as it had been the day before.

“Why Vienna?” Alex asked, after their tickets were purchased.

“Why not?”

“Is there a museum you want to torture me with there as well?”

“I can look for one, if you’d like. Do you need another reminder of the cost of causing problems?”

“No.”

In the corner of his eye, trench coat woman appeared.

Alex glanced in the opposite direction, hoping Yassen hadn’t seen her. “What about food? Do they have decent food there? And how long is the trip?”

“I’m sure we’ll find something to eat.”

“Is the train ride going to take forever?”

“It will take as long as it takes.”

“There’s a book stand behind us. Can I get something to read?”

Yassen considered that. He looked up at the large clock in the ceiling, indicating the few remaining minutes until their train arrived.

Alex could pinpoint the exact moment Yassen sensed danger. The man stood, putting his hand on Alex’s arm, and urging him up as well.

“What?” Alex asked, pretending he didn’t see the woman approaching them.

Yassen didn’t answer, leading them into a stream of people trickling towards the path for the underground.

“Are we staying here after all?”

The number of people were pursuing them must have been enough that the woman now felt confident enough to take them on. Agents must have waited at the train station all day in case they appeared.

Alex knew multiple agents were following them, but they soon lost the tail, as Yassen wove them through a path of the underground that Alex couldn’t predict or understand.

“I thought you were going to try to kill someone,” Alex commented, relieved, after they surfaced near a large public park.

“That would attract attention,” Yassen dismissed, guiding them through the park.

Alex didn’t care what the reason – not leaving a trail of dead and dying agents in their wake was best. Hearing that Yassen preferred to avoid it lessened some of his anxiety. “What now?”

“We’re going back to the train station in an hour. There is another train departing for Vienna soon.”

That was stupidity. Unless something important was waiting in Vienna, they were only putting themselves into harm’s way.

Yassen was insane. “They’ll catch us there!”

“We will be fine.”

“Even if they don’t catch us there, they’ll be waiting in Vienna,” Alex exclaimed.

“You don’t want them to rescue you?” Yassen asked.

“I don’t want you to decide to leave me in the station with spikes in my arm as a distraction!”

“I’ll keep that exit strategy in mind.”

Alex tried, to no avail, to convince Yassen to abandon their destination during lunch, before they caught the second taxi to the station that they’d taken that day. Yassen remained unconvinced. At the restaurant, he had Alex change clothes in the restroom. Yassen himself switched jackets and donned a hat and a pair of decorative glasses.

The afternoon bustle at the station resembled the morning’s crowds. There were still easily enough people for someone watching them to blend into the background.

Their arrival at the station coincided perfectly with their train arriving, and this time they didn’t waste time sitting around waiting, but headed straight into the train. They sat near the exit, with Yassen, glasses and hat obscuring his face, watching the door, observing who entered their car.

The rest of the passengers seemed to pass the test, as Yassen disappeared into his book once they were well into the journey.

It was after the announcement of the train’s upcoming stop at Nuremberg that the man in the bowler hat entered the compartment. He took a seat in the empty row across the aisle from them.

Alex would have ignored the man, but a sixth sense told him that the man held other business in the car besides finding a quieter part of the train.

When Yassen put his book away, Alex knew he agreed.

“We’re moving cars,” Yassen murmured. “Take us towards the end of the train.”

Alex led them back through the door the man in the bowler hat had entered through. Yassen followed, and stopped them both once they were halfway through the next car.

Moments later, the man in the bowler hat entered the compartment.

“Sit in an empty row,” Yassen directed, shoving his backpack at Alex. “No matter what happens, stay in that seat. You know the punishment for disobeying.”

Worried now, Alex slid into an empty row, leaving both backpacks at his feet.

Yassen headed back towards the door. The man in the bowler hat retreated a step, and disappeared into the previous car. Yassen followed him.

The door opened only a few minutes later.

It wasn’t Yassen. Instead, a lone man in his late forties walked in. He glanced around the cart, seemingly looking for someone. And then he saw Alex. Without wasting a second, the man joined him in the row.

“Alex Rider?” the man asked, in a low whisper.

Alex nodded.

“We’re getting off at Nuremberg,” the man promised. “We have agents waiting there, and more at Vienna. You’re safe now.”

“Is there anyone else on the train?” Alex asked. Worry gnawed at him. Was Yassen taking out the man in the bowler hat, as they sat and talked? Or was it a trap, and the man in the bowler had led Yassen to backup?

The man hesitated.

“Tell me!”

“There’s one more agent.”

“Yassen followed him out! He could be killing him now!”

“I saw. Don’t worry – my partner can handle himself. Even if something happens, Gregorovich can’t go anywhere.”

The words didn’t quite reassure. “I can’t go anywhere either.”

“Why not?”

Pulling his sleeves back, he unveiled his wrists. “There’s two on my ankles as well. If I go anywhere, spikes come out of them.”

“Are they motion activated?”

“There’s a remote.”

The news troubled the agent, judging from his expression. Whatever obstacles he had expected, it hadn’t been the cuffs. From his furtive checks of the door to the car, the agent clearly wanted backup. Alex couldn’t blame the man.

“We’ll make sure he’s not a problem,” the man promised, a nervous strain underlying his voice.

The train began to pull into the Nuremberg station. People around them began to stand and reach for luggage.

“It’s time to go,” the agent said. “Our side are moving in now. They’ll find him.”

“I can’t move!” Alex insisted. “Not unless Yassen’s dead. If he sees I’ve moved, he’ll activate the spikes.”

The agent examined one of the cuffs closely. “Are you sure this isn’t a trick?”

“ _Yes_ , I’m sure.”

The door to the car opened. Alex’s eyes flew to the front of the car to see Yassen push his way in, none-too-kindly forcing a path through the people blocking his way to them. The remote was in his hand.

The agent reached for his waist, slowly.

“Don’t! That’s the remote.” And Alex had other fears. The car was full of people about to get out. One of them could be hurt in the crossfire.

Yassen reached them and stopped. Beside Alex, the agent’s arm still hovered over where his sidearm must be hidden.

“Are you alone?” Yassen asked.

“No,” the man said. “And there are more at the station. You’re surrounded.”

“How many?”

The man glared. “Enough.”

Yassen struck before the agent could, viciously slamming his elbow into the man’s nose. The agent scrambled for his gun, and Yassen’s free hand grabbed the man’s arm and twisted.

There was a crack.

The agent screamed.

Around the car, people were staring, horrified, and the ones closest to them were pushing to get away.

“Don’t kill him!” Alex tried to shove the agent aside, out of Yassen’s way. Gasping, the man was forced against the armrest separating him from the aisle. Yassen turned and pushed Alex back, and he fell against the chair, hitting his head with both the cushion of the seat’s head rest and the steel frame of the window.

The train doors slid open.

Yassen grabbed the agent by his shirt and hauled him out of his chair. He threw the man onto the ground, and aimed a kick at his head. The agent reeled back onto the floor. Another kick was all it took before his eyes flickered, and then closed.

“Backpack,” Yassen ordered, grabbing his own and putting it on. The stunned passengers stumbled backwards, crashing into each other in their haste to rush away.

“You just –“ Alex stammered, rubbing his head where he’d fallen into the steel.

Yassen raised the remote, showing Alex that his finger was on the button for his left wrist. “Now!”

Alex grabbed his backpack and followed Yassen into the aisle. As soon as Alex exited the row, he was grabbed by the arm and hauled over the body of the unconscious agent and towards the door to the front of the train.

They shoved their way through two cars before Yassen pulled them out and into the station.

Police were approaching the train from the front of the station. None of them stopped Alex and Yassen as they rushed towards the exit.

Far from the commotion, a man in a suit was staring directly at them.

The man in the suit followed them as they exited the station. A taxi parked outside was waiting for passengers, and Yassen shoved Alex into the backseat while giving a quick address to the driver.

Yassen had an address ready.

They had never been going to Vienna. At least, Alex thought, not the second time. This whole thing had been a ruse, meant to draw in agents and keep them occupied. And while MI6 sent their resources to Vienna, Alex and Yassen would be elsewhere.

A realization struck him then, hard and heavy.

A ruse. A diversion from the main attacks that were happening now. That’s all this whole thing was, and Alex knew that.

Yassen had left him alone with an agent. Alone long enough to tell the agent that this was all a distraction. To tell Mrs. Jones that Yassen was going to let him go free at the end of the ten days. Alex hadn’t said anything at all – he’d missed the opportunity to warn Mrs. Jones entirely!

He could only blame himself for his mistake.

Yassen had finally made a mistake, leaving him alone, and Alex had been too much of an idiot to take advantage of the fact. The guilt lay in his chest. If MI6 kept sending agents after Alex and at attack occurred that could have been prevented – if Yassen killed any agents that followed them – Alex would be culpable. If Yassen had killed either agent on the train, at least Alex could claim he couldn’t have stopped their deaths. From now on, that was no longer the case.

Alex wished more than anything that he could go back to the train and warn the agent.

Their destination was the middle of a crowded city street. From there they went around several blocks, ducking between alleys and main roads until it seemed their tracks had been covered, and Yassen called another taxi to bring them to a long distance bus stop. The bus trip took them several hours away, to a town that Alex had never heard of in the Czech Republic.

“Did you kill him?” Alex asked that night after he first struggled to fall asleep. “The man you followed, I mean. Did you kill him?”

Yassen answered, to Alex’s surprise. “He may be fine. It was more practical to knock him out than to kill him. It would be less of a problem if someone found a man who they thought had fainted in the bathroom than a man with a broken neck.”

The news was better than Alex had anticipated.

“You thought I’d killed him?” Yassen asked.

“It’s what you do.”

“What I am doing now is leading a chase around Europe. Leaving a path of bodies in our wake could convince MI6 that this is a losing battle, and the distraction would become far less effective.”

“Your boss wants a lot of MI6 agents dead.”

“Not necessarily by my hand.”

“Then how?” Alex clenched his hand. He’d been watching the news. He’d seen the devastation at the bank. People had been killed! Their families had received news of their death, not even knowing why loved ones had been targeted.

“You can’t stop anything, so stop fretting.”

“I could stop _you_ ,” Alex muttered.

“No,” Yassen refuted. “You couldn’t. And I doubt you’d want to.”

Some of Alex’s anger sapped from him. No, he didn’t want to kill Yassen. Yassen hadn’t killed him, and he’d saved Alex’s life several times now.

More than that, and perhaps more to what Yassen was referring to, Alex wasn’t a murderer. Not in cold blood. Not when he wasn’t saving his own life.

“Go to sleep,” Yassen directed. The words weren’t a choice.

Alex didn’t fall asleep for a while more, but he at least tried.

Day Five

Alex decided that morning: his actions needed to have a purpose. He needed to call MI6. Mrs. Jones needed to know that Alex would be released soon, regardless of any rescue attempt. The only problem now was how to let her know without alerting Yassen to the call. So far in the trip, Yassen kept in contact with his boss, Alex assumed, when Alex showered or slept. The man hadn’t left Alex unattended and untied for a moment. He left Alex restrained before he even went to the restroom, at night. When they were in museums or travelling, Alex didn’t have a phone that he could use to contact anyone if Yassen went to the restroom. And Alex needed to stay where he had been left, or, when Yassen returned and found him moved, the cuffs would be used.

There had only been one slip up – one proper chance to tell Mrs. Jones the truth – and he had ruined it himself. 

Still, the opportunity had to arise. And if it didn’t, Alex would make an opportunity.

The small town they’d ended in held little in way of entertainment and site-seeing. And Yassen, apparently, was fine with that. They were staying in town for a day while waiting for a bus, and Yassen appeared perfectly content to spend a day not fully on MI6’s radar. He read a book in the café next to their bed and breakfast while Alex frantically searched a newspaper for hints of how MI6 was faring, and then they went on a walk around the town’s small town square. The walk took all of fifteen minutes. By the time Yassen brought them to a park, after lunch and a tour of the small art gallery next to the town square, Alex was restless for news.

He’d spent time the past few days watching the news in hotel rooms at night and reading newspapers when he could, all to see if there was mention of another bombing, or continued coverage of what the news had dubbed an “unknown terrorist attack on English civilians”. And he’d seen plenty of information about the bomb at the Royal and General, although he didn’t know how many killed were agents or affiliated with MI6. He’d absorbed enough to keep him up a while last night while he thought about it. But Alex hadn’t seen anything else that could be interpreted as an attack on MI6. Not unless he didn’t understand the context.

Which left two possibilities. The first was that Yassen’s boss was utterly terrible at his plan to harm the agency. And the second was that MI6 was being hurt, but not in ways that the news would cover.

Yassen found a bench by the pond and took a seat. Alex, frowning, sat next to him. “What’s happening with your boss’s plan? It’s not over yet, right?”

“You are still with me,” Yassen replied. “So, no.”

“Ok.” Alex gripped the edge of the bench. “What’s happening with his plan, then?”

“Nothing you need to know.”

“What sort of nothing? There’s nothing in the news, but I don’t think you mean nothing’s happening.”

Yassen sighed. “Things are happening. Agents have been killed, and others have had their identities revealed. This operation has been months in planning, and many agents are undercover for years. Hackers were involved in breaking into MI6’s files. It’s possible that soon some of their operations will be leaked to the news, although it will depend on the extent of their abilities to cover their trails.”

Alex wondered how many operations would be in danger now. “That’s not really the grand plot I expected.”

“You can reevaluate later, once it’s finished.”

“What does that mean?” Alex asked, suspiciously. “Is there a finale planned? Something that would make the news?”

“Don’t ask. It’s none of your concern, and you will only bother me if you pester.”

The cuffs felt impossibly heavy around his limbs.

Alex closed his eyes for a moment, envisioning the remote that Yassen had with them, with its buttons for increasing and decreasing the spikes, gradually allowing them to wound his wrists and ankles if Yassen only tapped a few controls.

The afternoon trickled by until it was time to catch the bus. From there, they traveled to a town on the Eastern side of the Czech Republic. They checked into their hotel later at night than they had checked in the past few nights. As soon as they were in their room, Alex scarfed the sandwich he’d been bought for dinner while Yassen tuned into the nightly news – there still seemed to be nothing on MI6, although it was harder to tell today, with the local reports in Czech instead of English.

Alex had just finished his coke when Yassen’s cell began to ring.

Yassen glanced at Alex. “Stay still.” Then he took his phone from his pocket and walked to the door of their suite.

Alex held his breath.

Yassen stepped outside of the room.

This was his chance.

Alex, quietly, walked to the phone on the table between the two beds.

He dialed MI6.

“This is Alex Rider,” he said, urgently, into the phone as soon as it was picked up. “I need you to write this down for Mrs. Jones.”

The door to the suite opened again. Alex looked over, frozen, phone in hand.

Yassen wasted no time. He crossed the room in seconds and pulled the phone from Alex’s hand.

“Who did you call?”

Yassen’s voice was hard. Alex suppressed a flinch.

His silence seemed to be enough of a confirmation of what Yassen expected. He spoke into the phone, “You have five more days before I kill him.” Then he hung up.

“Explain.”

Alex couldn’t think of a lie.

“ _Now_ , little Alex.”

“I was,” Alex paused. “I was going to tell them not to rescue me.”

“Why?”

“You said you would let me go, even if they didn’t.”

Yassen’s gaze sharpened. “And you thought you could spare their resources, and stop them from sending agents after you.”

Yes. And Yassen knew that.

“No one ever told me not to call anyone,” Alex pointed out.

“I told you to stay still.”

“You left me with one of their agents earlier! I could have said that you would release me in a few days then.”

“But you didn’t.”

Yassen left Alex by the phone, and went to drag the lone chair in the room close to the door. He dragged it along the carpet until he reached the hallway to the door connected to the small kitchenette, which was covered in tile. Then he picked the chair up and moved it onto the tile.

Alex watched, a feeling of trepidation building in his stomach.

“There’s rope in the smaller compartment of my backpack. Get it and bring it here.”

It was easy to locate. The ropes and a first aid kit were the only things in the compartment. Alex took it and brought it to Yassen, trying hard not to tremble. “I didn’t do anything,” he pleaded, as Yassen took the rope from his hands.

“You didn’t say what you intended to, you mean. You wouldn’t have convinced them, anyway. But you disobeyed me.”

“They would have believed me.”

“No. They would think that I had told you I would let you go in ten days to force your cooperation. Desperate prisoners will try to break free.” Yassen put his hand on the back of the chair.. “Sit down.”

“We’re in a hotel,” Alex tried. “Neighbors will hear if you hurt me.”

“They’d hear screams. You’re not going to scream. Sit.”

Alex stayed standing. It felt a sudden struggle to breathe normally. Yassen grabbed his arm and none-too-gently shoved him into the chair. His hands were bound together and one of his legs tied to the chair leg.

He had to explain, had to get Yassen to understand that he would have needed to try something. “People are dying.” Alex swallowed. “You can’t expect me to just let your boss kill more people. Not when I’m making it worse!”

Yassen pulled the remote out of his pocket. He pressed on it, twice. Alex let out a sharp breath as the spikes inside his right cuff came to a rest right outside his skin. “Stop!”

The spikes in the left cuff copied the action.

“Don’t,” Alex said, unsteadily, trying to keep his wrists perfectly still, so that the spikes didn’t jostle into his skin harder with each slight tremor. “I won’t do that again.”

Yassen smiled, grimly. “I think you would. Perhaps after a lesson, you will not.”

He pressed on the remote, again.

Early, Day Six

His wrists hurt, small pinpricks of steel almost but not quite penetrating the skin. But the worst pain was in his ankles. The cuffs had been activated there as well. Small spikes were sticking into them, leaving trails of blood tricking down onto the floor tiles. Alex’s breathing was ragged and shaky, every slight tremble left his wrists getting rubbed raw at the ends of the spikes, and his face was sticky with tears.

Yassen didn’t even look his way.

“Please,” Alex tried at one point, through tears that were only making his face wet. “ _Stop it_.”

Yassen turned the television on. He watched that instead of Alex.

Alex, eventually, caught Yassen’s cold blue eyes again considering him. This time, Alex didn’t say anything. He just stared through the tears.

“Will you try that again?” Yassen asked.

“No,” Alex whispered. “ _Please_. I,” Alex stopped, and took a ragged breath. He could feel the intensity of the spikes building at his ankles. “I won’t be a problem.”

The knots tying him to the chair took ages to be untied. “Go put your feet in the bathtub,” Yassen instructed as soon as the ropes fell to the ground.

Alex stumbled to the restroom and hobbled to sit on the ledge of the bathtub. Every step was agony. The spikes jostled into his ankles, digging deeper into his skin, while the spikes around his wrists tried to cut into him with every step.

Yassen followed him in. He had a first aid kit in his hands, along with the remote.

“Take them off,” Alex begged.

“Patience.” Yassen pressed a few buttons on the remote, and the spikes in on the wrist cuffs retracted into the steel material.

The relief was immediate, but not enough. His ankles were where the true pain rested. His ankles were the only place the spikes had been deep enough to open the skin.

Yassen placed the remote on the sink with the first aid kit, and opened the kit to pull out a set of vinyl gloves, a bottle of antiseptics, a small set of scissors, and a roll of gauze. He pulled a glove onto his left hand. Then he sat on the ledge of the tub next to Alex, with the gauze, scissors, and remote on the edge of the sink closest to him.

“There’s a towel next to you. Run water over it.”

Alex reached for the hotel towel on the wall desperately, and rushed to get it under the flow of the bath spigot. Quickly, the towel absorbed a flood of water. Alex shut the spigot off and wrung the excess water off the towel.

“Give it to me.”

Alex tossed the wet towel into the bath in front of Yassen.

“I’m going to remove the cuffs around your ankles.” Yassen spoke, slowly, tranquilly. As if Alex wasn’t about to start crying anew with pain at any second. As if tears weren’t still filling his eyes. “It’s only for the moment. Hold still.”

The cuffs clicked open, and Alex pried them off himself, pulling the spikes out of his ankles as thick blood welled at the holes in his skin.

Yassen, now with both hands gloved, cleaned and dressed the wounds as Alex shuddered in suppressed agony all the while. He almost bit through his lip when the antiseptic hit the open wounds; the chemicals _stung._

“It still hurts,” Alex confessed while Yassen cleaned the bathroom and set the white hotel towel to rinse off under a stream of water in the bath. It was soaked red from Alex’s blood, both from his ankles and the tile floor in the entrance to the room, although the water turned the towel pink as the blood washed away.

Yassen didn’t acknowledge his admission.

Alex caught a glance of himself in the mirror. He looked a mess. “Wash your face,” Yassen instructed, catching Alex’s reflection.

Washing his face helped a bit, although his face was still blotched.

Yassen collecting the cuffs and handing them back to him. They had been rinsed of his blood and, Alex assumed, cleaned. The spikes were retracted into the bracelet.

“I’ll put them on tomorrow morning,” Alex promised.

“You’ll put them on now.”

Alex wanted to argue or plead.

He also didn’t want to anger Yassen anew.

The cuffs still fit over the gauze. In a way, they were less uncomfortable now, with the protection of a layer of cotton between his injured ankles and the steel.

The promise of pain, should he run or act out, remained.

Alex’s gaze lingered on the closed metal loops. SCORPIA, whatever remained of it, had wanted their legacy felt. Had wanted vengeance and pain. Tonight, they’d at least gotten one out of the way with.

Yassen had been with SCORPIA for years. Had he been entertained at the thought of the punishment, even as he worked to keep Alex alive? Had he been the one to suggest the cuffs? He might have viewed inserting the cuffs into the picture as just another measure to keep him in line, necessary even if cruel.

The thought didn’t leave his mind, not even as he walked, unsteadily, out of the restroom to find Yassen. “Did you want this to happen?”

Yassen’s expression was, at best, mildly curious as to what Alex meant.

“You were only outside a minute,” Alex accused. “And you left me with a phone. It was a trap.”

“I made a mistake, leaving you alone. You made a mistake as well.”

“Sure,” Alex agreed. “But your mistake didn’t get you tortured.”

“You and I are not in the same position.”

“Yeah, because you have a fucking spike trap set around my limbs.”

“Stop,” Yassen warned.

“I’m just saying facts.” Alex suddenly felt the weight of the day. He was ready for the post-pain reprieve of sleep. “I’m done now, anyway. I want to go to bed.”

Yassen, in what Alex chose to view as an accidental mercy, didn’t bind his legs together when he was tied up for the night. His newly bandages ankles were left alone, although still cuffed.

“You have four hours until I wake you,” Yassen said, once he’d tied Alex’s hands, and secured the ropes binding him to the bed.

Despite the persistent thrumming ache in his ankles, Alex fell asleep almost instantly that night.

Day Six

The day had been uneventful. That was Alex’s only way to describe it. After being woken at six, exhausted, Yassen had brought them to the station to catch a bus to a larger city, then a train to Slovakia.

Their first stop in Bratislava had been to a modern art museum. Yassen had kept Alex on his feet the entire morning, dragging him between paintings and the statue garden that jutted out into the river.

The events of last night, by then, had appeared to be done and forgotten. Yassen had left Alex to rest on the trip to the city, and he had been pleasant enough while they were at the art museum, aside from keeping Alex walking the entire time.

At lunch, Alex had ordered a coke and a regional dish and spent the entire time looking around the restaurant, waiting for any suspicious activity to catch his eye, but nothing unusual had appeared. Impatient children had fidgeted and criticized their food, exhausted parents had pleaded with babies to eat, and grandmothers had rested their feet. If anyone else in that cafeteria had been aware of Alex, they had done a poor job of rescuing him.

“I don’t think they care anymore,” Alex had mentioned while Yassen kept him waiting outside in the rain for the walking tour of the downtown area. “They think I’ll rescue myself or I can’t be rescued at all.” He’d half-expected it would happen. Now it had, he was certain.

“Perhaps.”

“Can we go get coffee instead? It’s pouring out here.”

“I bought you an umbrella.”

“My backpack’s going to be soaked after this.”

“Your clothes will dry.”

“If they do care, and they surround us out here, it’s because you’re leaving us in the middle of a square, with lots of places they could come from. I’ll definitely say, ‘I told you so’ before they haul you to prison.”

“If they surround us, I have you as a hostage.”

“If they surround us,” Alex had parried, bitter, “They’ll definitely have you killed.”

“Or I can kill them.”

Alex, glaring, had quieted until the rest of the tour group gathered. Then he allowed himself to ask questions about the city, pretending for just a couple of hours that he was a normal tourist.

After the walking tour, Yassen, ever the tourist, took them to the castle beside the river for an hour. Reluctantly, Alex would admit, the view from the castle was spectacular. It was even remarkable in the rain. The sight almost made him forget the slight ache in his ankles.

By evening, he was ready to resume his whining.

“This is a terrible plan,” Alex complained, after they’d checked into the newest hotel under yet another of the assumed names that Alex had heard Yassen give for himself several times before. They hadn’t run into anyone from MI6 at all that day, Alex knew they’d abandoned him, and he, for one, was feeling particularly tired of being dragged around.

Yassen ignored him.

Tired, annoyed, and bitter, Alex finally asked what he’d been wondering for days. “Wouldn’t it be easier to let them kill me?”

That comment gave Yassen pause. He looked at Alex, properly, for the first time that day. “You don’t want to die.”

“No. But it would be a lot easier than this. You wouldn’t have to deal with me, either.”

Yassen shook his head. “I still would have had to deal with you.”

Right. Yassen would have been the one to kill him. The man had mentioned it before.

“Why didn’t you? Not that I want you to kill me, obviously.”

“Rest for a while,” Yassen said, redirecting the conversation. “We’ll get dinner later.”

Alex wasn’t so easily dissuaded. He’d been wondering the question for days, and now that he’d asked it, he wanted answers. “I’m serious. I want to know why you didn’t kill me. Why you came up with this plan, instead.”

“I had no desire to kill you.”

Yassen had told Alex before that he didn’t kill people for personal reasons. If that was true, he didn’t need to have a desire to kill someone to do it.

“But you’re being paid,” Alex objected. “I thought you killed people just for money.”

“I had a desire _not_ to kill you,” Yassen amended.

“Why?”

“Do I need a reason?”

“Yes.” Alex dangled his legs off the bed. “You kidnapped me. You could have killed me instead of dragging me around Europe for days, hoping that I’d cooperate, and you didn’t. I deserve to know why.”

“Do you?” Yassen walked to stand by the window, Alex’s gaze following him all the while. Yassen looked out onto the city below. “I don’t think so.”

“Is it because of my dad?”

“If you want it to be.”

“I want it to be if it’s true. You told me that my dad saved your life. How? Why? Is that really why you want to save mine?”

“So many questions,” Yassen said, quietly. Alex didn’t know if it was a reproach.

Yassen turned to consider him, and Alex stared a challenge in response. “I know it’s not because of my time with SCORPIA. I barely stayed with them for half a month.”

“Perhaps it was. Or perhaps it was about afterwards. You were brave to take them on as you did. It’s possible that I admired that trait about you.”

“You’re lying.” This whole trip from hell came from Yassen taking an offer of employment from a man who wanted to hurt MI6, and - if Alex had understood the stranger in France correctly - SCORPIA’s downfall had directly led to this moment.

“Or perhaps I admire your curiosity.”

Yassen was poking fun at him now.

Alex glowered.

“You want the truth?” Yassen questioned.

“Yes.” The truth offered more insight into the man than idle curiosity ever would.

Yassen turned back to the window. “The truth is simple. I’ve told it to you before. I knew your father. He trained me, before you were even born. And yes, he saved my life. I cared about him, just as I care for you. Your death could have been avoided this time, so I did what was needed to keep you alive.”

“Why didn’t you do anything before? I went to SCORPIA and they nearly killed me!”

“At first, after Cray, I was recovering, and you were not a priority. And when I’d heard that you were still with MI6, I doubted you would want to hear from me. You, also, had nothing to do with my assignments.”

“And then I did.”

“And then you did,” Yassen confirmed. “I would have preferred to leave you out of it entirely, but that was not an option. Your name had been given to my employer, and the people who hired him wanted you hurt as well. I convinced him that using you was a better plan.”

“How kind,” Alex said, dryly.

Yassen shrugged. “My job does not require kindness.”

“Never would have guessed.” Alex noticed the sky darkening in the window beyond Yassen. A nap would be good if they weren’t going for food yet. But first he wanted to clarify one thing. “It’s because of my father then. Why you won’t kill me, anyway. Because my father saved your life.”

“I admire a great many things about you as well, Alex. Your life is not your father’s.”

A great irony existed in telling a person that they were admired while controlling that person with a remote. Alex decided to point that out. “You tortured me. You have a remote that controls whether I’m impaled or not. You don’t get to say you admire me.”

“I’ve done my job for many years. I am willing to sacrifice kindness if it keeps you alive. Despite the coercion I am using to keep you in line, you have handled things admirably, yes.”

He’d missed his opportunity to tell MI6 the truth of their trip. Alex set his jaw. “There’s nothing to admire.”

“Others would have handled it worse.”

Alex scoffed. Others would have handled it better. They wouldn’t have needed to call MI6, because they would have talked to the agent when they had the chance. They might have prevented the agent from being hurt. Others might have taken the offer of foster care instead of working for MI6 at all.

“You don’t think so?” Yassen asked.

“You caught me two seconds into calling MI6.” Others wouldn’t have taken the risk. They could have avoided the unpleasant aftermath of the failed call.

“You are brave, but it would help if you thought your plans though before acting on them,” Yassen admitted. “You’re still young.”

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

A smile tugged at Yassen’s lips. “The young are rash.”

“If I’m rash, I’m not going to grow out of it overnight.”

The trace of a smile disappeared from Yassen’s face. “No, probably not. But you will learn. Will you cross me again, after last night?”

Alex shuddered. No. He wouldn’t. Not when two clicks of a remote turned him into a wreck of a person. The memory of the agony was enough.

Yassen returned to his bed, and began to rifle through his bag. “I’m going to read for a while. You can watch television, or rest.”

Alex, without anything else to say, hid under the covers to nap.

Day Seven

According to Yassen, his employer needed him to buy a laptop. He didn’t tell Alex why. So, after arriving in Budapest that afternoon, they were in a mall, visiting a computer store.

Alex paced around, near enough to Yassen but not staying close. He wasn’t worried. If he strayed too far, Yassen would tell him.

“Are you done yet?” Alex asked, after he’d circled the store twice and played more than a few rounds of Tetris on the display computer.

“Not yet,” Yassen said. For his part, he appeared occupied with examining the specs on each device that he examined.

“Maybe I can help,” Alex offered. He suspected Yassen would refuse his offer, but he was bored. Offering didn’t hurt. And Yassen would find what he wanted eventually, Alex was sure, even if it took going to another store.

“If you can find a blank paper and pen, you can help.”

The store clerk, despite barely knowing English, found both for Alex. When he returned to Yassen, the man wrote specifications onto the paper. “Find one with these and I will be finished.”

The computer boxes in Hungary, unsurprisingly, bore little English writing. It certainly made searching for a decent camera harder.

“Can I help?” The store clerk asked, surprising Alex.

“Yeah,” Alex replied. “Do you have a computer with these?” He handed the sheet to the man.

He was led to a series of web cameras. Alex frowned. From his understanding, Yassen needed a computer with a camera, not a webcam that could attach to a computer. “I mean a laptop.”

“Laptop?” The store clerk stumbled over the word. Alex pointed to a Macintosh laptop display, and the man brightened. “Oh yes. Laptop! One moment.”

Alex waited while the man pulled out laptop boxes and glanced at them quickly. Eventually the clerk returned with a boxed laptop in hand. Alex thanked the man and brought the box to Yassen.

“You’re sure this is what I’m looking for?” Yassen asked him.

“I asked the clerk,” Alex responded.

“He spoke English well?”

“Well enough.”

It took only a few more minutes for Yassen to confirm with the clerk and check out.

The rest of the afternoon found them circling the mall, window shopping and hiding from the rain and cold outside. Eventually they ended in a bookstore, after Yassen ensured that they crossed in front of a camera mounted on the top floor of the mall a few times. Alex was given the money for a coffee in the bookstore café and allowed to browse a newspaper while Yassen worked on a sudoku puzzle between glancing at the door – it felt to Alex – every two seconds.

“No one’s going to grab us in a bookstore,” Alex said, after Yassen glanced at the door for the fifth time in a minute.

“I’m glad you’re confident.”

“You’re paranoid. There’s a family looking at children’s books twenty meters away. It’s not a good look for them to kill you here.”

Yassen put the book away. “We’re going now. We’ve spent enough time at this location.”

“If you say so,” Alex muttered, taking a final sip of his coffee before he went to throw the cup away.

Maybe Yassen knew the signs to look for, Alex begrudgingly admitted, when he noticed a shopper from the mall trailing them, streets away from the shopping center.

The buildings in Budapest were tall, and the streets were wide. It made it difficult to hide, as they weaved in an unstable path around the streets, losing their first pursuer.

Alex saw the second agent by pure luck.

There was a movement to the side. He turned his head to see an alley across the street from them. Yassen, three steps ahead of Alex, didn’t pause or turn. The agent in the alley pulled out a gun, and aimed.

“Stop!” Alex called, before he had a chance to think.

Yassen, instinctively, froze.

The bullet cut through the air in front of Yassen, missing him by millimeters. If Yassen had continued his pace, he would be dead.

Yassen took a step back, turning as he did so, his firearm suddenly in his hand. He fired in the direction of the agent.

The would-be assassin had already disappeared back into the alley.

Yassen grabbed Alex and pulled him along, keeping Alex to his side as a shield.

When they finally got into a hotel that night, after a complicated path and two separate taxis, Alex was more than ready to sit down. He dropped his bag and collapsed into the suite’s couch. After a deep breath, he confessed, “I don’t want that to happen again.”

“You were never in danger,” Yassen responded.

“I know.”

Yassen gave him an odd look.

“I know we’re not on the same side,” Alex said, feeling the need to defend himself. “But this won’t end unless they kill you or save me – or both - and in the meantime, others can get hurt.”

Yassen, quietly, remarked, “They came close, today.”

And Alex had almost been free. It would have been finished.

Trying to make a joke of it, Alex said, “I’m working on thinking before I act.”

“I’m grateful that you didn’t.”

Alex searched for the right words to respond. He hadn’t been trying to save Yassen. He had seen someone in danger, and, in honesty, _hadn’t_ thought before he acted. He didn’t know what he would have done if there had been time to think the warning through. Without Yassen in the picture, Alex could go home. With Yassen alive, the situation was unchanged. Alex, helpless, distracting MI6 when they needed all agents on alert.

Somehow, Alex suspected the situation between Yassen and MI6 would need more than Alex saving Yassen for it to magically resolve. Alex wouldn’t be released early for good behavior.

Yassen nodded in acceptance at the silence. “I need to make a call. You should watch something.” In other words, Alex should stay out of his way.

Alex picked up the television remote to search for a news station, while Yassen went to the corner of the room to dial whoever he was calling.

The news was covering the stock market, not any new acts of terrorism. Again, Alex wondered how badly Yassen’s boss could really be attacking MI6 if most of his attacks stayed out of the news. Surely MI6 and the British government didn’t wield the authority cover everything up?

Yassen’s murmured into the phone in the corner. Alex turned the volume down on the television and tried to listen in during the short pauses between the journalists on television, but it didn’t seem that he was even speaking English. Although if Yassen’s frown indicated unpleasant information being conveyed to him, then operations had to be running poorly. Good. The more Yassen’s boss failed, the better MI6 fared.

Yassen hung up.

If anything was wrong, he hid it well. The man’s expression was unreadable again, face calm and untroubled. He crossed the room and found the room service menu. “Have you looked at this?”

“No. Are we eating in?” Alex asked.

“Yes. Let me know what you want to eat.”

Alex tried to ask questions about their plans for the next day over dinner, but Yassen dismissed them all. After dinner, Alex switched the news to a movie channel, tired of watching the same news and weather repeat endlessly. No news was good news, he had to believe, and the news reported no new terrorist activity. Meanwhile, Yassen called the hotel front desk to set up the Wi-Fi network for his laptop.

Curious, Alex asked about the laptop once Yassen finished his conversation. “What’s that for, anyway?”

Yassen didn’t answer right away.

When he did, he didn’t meet Alex’s eyes.

“My employer has encountered difficulties with his plans. He intends to send MI6 a message, and a reminder that you exist.”

“They know I exist,” Alex pointed out. “They tried to shoot you earlier.”

Had almost shot Yassen, if not for Alex.

Eyebrows drew together, tightly. “I told my employer that.”

“And?”

“And he thinks another reminder would suit his purposes well. One that highlights the urgency of your situation.”

The room’s temperature was comfortable enough, but Alex felt the urge to shiver. “What sort of reminder?”

Yassen met his eyes. His frown had returned. “The sort that reminds MI6 that you are in my hands.”

It took a minute to register.

“No,” Alex said, his stomach dropping. “I haven’t done anything!”

Yassen rested the laptop on his bed and turned his attention to Alex.

“I’ve been cooperating. I’ve done everything you’ve said!”

“Alex.”

“No!” Alex repeated.

“Turn the movie off.”

Alex didn’t move for the remote. What was the point of obeying when he would be hurt regardless?

Yassen walked to the television to press the power button instead. “I know that you’ve cooperated,” he said. “I’ve been given orders.”

“Don’t listen to them,” Alex pleaded.

“I’m being paid.”

The simple words apparently meant enough to Yassen. Alex tensed, uncertain whether it would help to fight.

Yassen understood his intentions. “I will be ready in a few more minutes. You can listen to my directions, or you can struggle. If you struggle, it will go worse.”

Tortured minutes passed slowly, as slow as every prelude to torture ever had. Alex tried, twice more, to bargain his way out of what was coming. His words were ignored.

Alex even tried bringing up that Yassen would be dead without him.

Yassen only shook his head.

In the end, Alex didn’t fight.

Day Eight

Alex couldn’t sleep.

He knew he should; they would be leaving in a few hours for another day of dodging agents and having Alex dragged in view of cameras for more agents to find them. But he couldn’t. His body was too sore. His head hurt, ironically, too much to fall asleep. And if he fell asleep, he feared that he would wake up, as per usual, bound. Defenseless. Unable to even attempt to get away. Not that he had a chance of that anyway, not with the cuffs.

They were in a hotel room, potentially with other guests on either side. Those circumstances offered limitations to the damage that could be inflicted. Alex needed to be kept from screaming in agony, so Yassen had settled for leaving him a crying mess instead. He had tied Alex’s legs together and his arms in front of him, before setting the laptop onto a chair to record the view. Then Yassen had hurt him, inflicting enough pain through pressure points to leave Alex writhing, crying and struggling to get away. Begging hadn’t helped; if anything, it was the push that had prompted Yassen to grab him by the hair and press his face, hard, into the pillow for long enough to leave Alex gasping for breath once released. After that, Alex hadn’t begged.

A clock on the nightside table measured only forty minutes before Yassen untied him and told him to go shower.

Alex’s back and upper arms had born the worst of the pain. His foot was tender as well. Now the hurt was gone, but in its place was a constant soreness.

He drew the comforter tighter around himself.

Yassen must have noticed, from wherever he was in the room.

“You should sleep.” The direction was muffled by the comforter wrapped over his head, but Alex understood all the same. He closed his eyes. He knew he should sleep.

The mattress dipped slightly underneath him.

Alex tensed.

“Sit up,” Yassen murmured, from outside the comforter.

Disobeying promised consequences.

Although obeying might promise consequences of their own. Alex had obeyed Yassen. He’d behaved. Yes, because there was the fear of impalement if he didn’t, but even when Alex could have been free, Alex had worked with Yassen to help the man survive. He’d _saved_ Yassen. (Ignoring that he hadn’t planned the action). It hadn’t mattered, though. Not when the instruction to hurt him had come in. Then all of Alex’s cooperation had been for nothing.

Alex pushed the comforter away from his face and sat up, pulling back to sit against the headboard.

Yassen sat on the edge of Alex’s mattress, an unopened bottle of water in his hands. Yassen offered it to him.

The water must have been from the minifridge in the corner; it tasted cold and clear. Alex took another gulp before capping the bottle. The more he drank, the more it would help his headache, he knew. But he couldn’t stomach much.

Yassen regarded him, almost warily. Alex waited, toying with the bottle in his hands, wary in return. Yassen was the one with power, after all. There was little Alex could do, if anything, to control their situation. But Yassen was used to waiting for people to crack. Alex wasn’t. He broke first, his words torn. “I saved your life.”

“I’m being paid a lot of money.” Yassen said, as if it were an imminently reasonable defense.

“That’s not an apology.”

“Did you expect one?”

Alex shook his head.

An indefinable shift crossed Yassen’s face. “All the same, little one. I’m sorry.”

That didn’t make it right. It wouldn’t make the next few days any easier.

It wasn’t a promise that it wouldn’t happen again.

“I would have preferred to leave you be,” Yassen admitted.

Alex would have preferred that as well.

Drained and uncomfortable, Alex muttered, “It’s over now. And it’s not like you were going to make it up to me, anyway.”

“Is there a way to?”

No. But there could be a way to use Yassen’s remorse, if only slightly. “Take them off.” Alex held his wrists out. “Just for a few hours. Please.”

“I can’t do that.”

“I’ll sleep without them. And no one else will know. We’re the only ones here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

“You won’t notice them if you’re sleeping.”

When Alex fell back into silence, Yassen spoke again. “You handled this bravely as well.”

Had he? Or did he just have no alternative other than to take the pain?

“I didn’t deserve it.”

“Sometimes circumstances are undeserved,” Yassen said. “Destiny is not always kind.”

Neither was Yassen himself, as the man had pointed out another day. Another thing Alex could do nothing about – both destiny, and Yassen himself.

“Did you always know what the laptop was for?” Alex asked, out of a morbid curiosity. “I picked it out. Did I pick it out while you knew what it needed to record?”

“I suspected. But I had hoped it wouldn’t come to that.”

“You could have told me.”

“You would have spent the day dreading it. My way was better.”

“Since when do you care about how I feel?” Yassen had to know that he wasn’t a kind man. Except, Alex knew, this entire situation was Yassen being kind. Kidnapping instead of death. Torture instead of murder.

Yassen’s version of kindness was twisted. No wonder he often stuck to heartlessness.

“I didn’t involve you in this world,” Yassen replied. “I would have done what I could to keep you out of this situation if it had been a choice. It was not. I kept you alive instead. There was no reason to make you suffer a day of dread when you could not control the outcome.”

“You could have not hurt me.”

“I had instructions to send the video to my employer, for him to edit and send to MI6. The absence of such a video would have been a problem.”

Anything for another paycheck.

Alex’s jaded expression may have given his thoughts away. Yassen frowned, but refrained from defending his actions further.

“Tell me, next time,” Alex said, eventually. “I want to know.”

“There shouldn’t be a next time.”

“You think there won’t be one. You can’t promise that.”

“No, I can’t.”

Alex’s jaw twitched. “I want to know,” he insisted.

Yassen sighed. “Alright.”

What a hollow victory – to know when the end of the day would be torture.

“I’m ready to sleep,” Yassen said. “If you’re able, you should sleep as well.”

To his surprise, Alex drifted off by the end of the hour.

The clock read just after half past nine when Alex woke. It was later than he’d been woken any day during their trip. Unlike the other days, Yassen hadn’t woken him.

Alex sat up, half certain something was wrong. The ropes that had bound him at night were gone already, disappeared into Yassen’s bag.

Something had to be wrong. He’d never been allowed to sleep past six before being woken, roughly, and made to get ready within minutes.

Yassen looked up from his book.

“What happened?” Alex asked.

“Did something happen?”

“We’re always out of the hotel by now.”

Yassen’s expression softened. “You fell asleep late. I thought sleeping in may be helpful. A few hours won’t impact our travels.”

The day was, compared to recent days, gentler in a way. There were no chases involving agents through alleys or trains. To Alex’s relief, Yassen’s boss didn’t call to command another torture scene filmed for MI6. By the time Alex went to bed at their hotel in Zagreb, they’d had no new unpleasant run-ins. Once or twice, Alex suspected pursuers in Budapest, but when he’d asked Yassen, the only response had been to stay calm and follow directions. And by the time they had arrived in Zagreb, Alex was almost certain that they weren’t being actively pursued, at least not anymore. Their time in the Museum of Contemporary Art almost allowed Alex to focus on the art instead of the nagging concern that something would go wrong. Dinner, too, had been peaceful enough, with Yassen taking the time to tell Alex about regional dishes. Alex had even listened without sarcastic retorts, for the most part.

Compared to the previous days, which had all contained some disaster or another, Alex thought that in hindsight the day could have gone worse. Perhaps the relative calm of the day – as if a lack of conflict with MI6 was within Yassen’s power to control – offered an apology of its own.

They had only two days left, and then Alex would be free to go home, without cuffs around his limbs. Just two more days.

Day Nine

MI6’s agents caught up with them in Sarajevo the next afternoon, at the National Museum of Bosnia and Herzegovina.

For the first time, they had rented a car to travel between cities and countries. Yassen had said the trains in this part of Europe were less reliable, and would make their travel last too long, to which Alex had muttered under his breath that their travel was nine days too long already. Secretly, though, he had been relieved that they were travelling by car. The lack of crowded space for agents to accost them in reassured him that no one would be hurt. It was easier to nap without the sounds of others talking noisily around them. And the border guards who inspected their forged passports at the border seemed, somehow, less curious than the past few days’ worth of border security at the train stations.

Alex had considered complaining about yet another museum when they’d arrived - he liked museums well enough, but seeing so many of them in the past few days made him weary. Only the futility of complaining made him decide against the act. Yassen wasn’t, presumably, choosing to drag him through a myriad of museums just because of a deep seated love and appreciation for culture. Institutions with valuable artifacts had cameras that MI6 could hack into to find them. And Alex couldn’t distract MI6 without a trail for their agents to follow.

Alex didn’t notice the agents trailing them. Not at first. He became aware of the danger when Yassen’s dawdling pace around the museum turned calculated. “How many are there?” Alex murmured, as they stepped into a wing of the museum dedicated to the recent history of the country.

Yassen shook his head. Either he didn’t know how many agents were following them, or he did know and wouldn’t tell. “Keep up.”

They entered a small room centered on the works of a famed national artist and immediately left through the archway on the other side of the room.

How had they been found? Alex wondered. They had only been in Sarajevo since just after noon, after leaving Zagreb early that morning. Then they had spent time in the city center for a few hours before heading to the gallery. MI6 must have sent agents ahead to every city near Zagreb, or the agency was calling on every agent located in the cities they visited once they’d been spotted.

“There are two men.” Yassen stopped in front of a large display on previous currency used in the country. “We are going to split up to lose them.”

Alex’s eyes widened. Split up?

“Across the street there is a hotel. Do you remember it?”

Yes, Alex had seen it when they’d walked by from where they’d left the car with their bags: a several stories hall yellow building tackily named, from what he remembered, Hotel Holiday.

Yassen removed his watch and pressed into Alex’s hands. “We’re meeting there in ten minutes. You cannot run far enough in that time to get past the frequency of the remote. You will meet me in the lobby within those ten minutes, or I will activate your cuffs, and with each minute you are late they will be worse. Understand?”

Alex clutched at the watch. Anxiety ate at him. “What if they grab me?”

“You will convince them to let you go. I don’t care how you do it. Tell them that I have said you’ll be free tomorrow if you want.”

Alex remembered Yassen’s earlier words about that statement: MI6 wouldn’t believe him. They’d continue to pursue him, in case Alex had been deceived himself.

“Don’t be late.” Yassen shot him a look that could cut steel. “They’re both in the corner of this room. Don’t look. You will take the door on the left when I say to, and I will take the door on the right. Lose them if they follow you.”

“There are two of them,” Alex protested.

“Go,” Yassen ordered, harshly, without a word to defend the plan. The man began to stride towards the door on the right.

Alex turned to walk to the left, looking at the watch as he did so. He had ten minutes to get out of the museum and cross the street to the hotel, without being seen. He didn’t have time to worry about being late.

In the corner of his eyes, he saw one of the men begin to follow him.

He turned around two corners, walking quickly, and ended up in a long hall painted black, with presentations of fossils surrounded by white paragraphs of information projected onto the dark walls.

“Alex?” a man shouted softly behind him. “I can help!”

Picking up his pace, Alex all but jogged to the end of the hall. He stepped through the archway leading to the next hall, and a man stepped forward, reaching for him.

Alex reacted on instinct, side-stepping the man. “Stop following me! I’ll be fine,” Alex said, desperately.

“I’m sorry,” the agent said. And then he took a step forward as Alex backed up, and reached out to grab Alex.

From the corner of the room, a security guard began to approach them, speaking a language Alex didn’t understand. In the second that Alex turned towards the guard, the two agents stood blocking the two ways that he could run.

“I need to go, now. Believe me! Let Mrs. Jones know that I’ll be free tomorrow,” Alex promised.

One of the agents clamped a hand on Alex’s shoulder while the other spoke back to the security guard in his own language.

Alex directed his next words to the man with a hand on his shoulder. “I’m just a distraction. And something’s going to happen if I don’t leave here by myself, and soon. Something bad.”

“We’ll keep you safe,” the agent replied, his voice gruff.

He had wanted to avoid violence, but time was ticking by, he was surrounded, and he needed to be across the street without any pursuers in – he glanced at the watch – seven more minutes.

Alex ducked out of the man’s hand, lashing out with an arm at the man’s knee as he ducked. Surprised, the man jumped back, giving Alex enough space to slip between the men.

“Stop!” the guard called as Alex broke into a run, darting around displayed artifacts and down the hall. He could hear multiple footsteps behind him, giving chase. He raced around the corner, then up a bunch of stairs, nearly knocking over a couple of young adults on the way up the stairs.

Time was running out, he knew, as he rounded another corner while another museum security guard tried to stop him. But he couldn’t bring the men back to the rendezvous point. Who knew what Yassen would do if they were cornered – nothing good, certainly.

He ran down another flight of stairs, and rounded a corner again. By now, the museum security knew to expect him. A man was waiting at the bottom of the stairs, arms extended as if to grab him into a bear hug.

Alex ran down the stairs and, at the last second, dropped low to run under the man’s arms. The guard huffed and staggered, wheeling around to chase after him.

It was too late. Alex had spotted an emergency exit.

Without a second glance, Alex charged to the door and burst out of it, finding himself in the back of the building.

He broke into another run, glancing down at the watch he’d been clutching the entire time as he did so.

Time had run out.

A spike of fear pierced his heart, but he couldn’t stop running. Couldn’t wait for the physical spikes to find him just as the figurative ones had.

He rounded the corner on the exterior of the building, looking for the road. Ahead of him, he saw it.

He was started to feel winded, but there was no time to slow his pace. Less than no time. He had to get to Yassen. Had to assume no one was following – that the security guards had stopped the agents inside, or the agents inside didn’t know what side of the building he’d rounded.

Alex was three minutes late by the time he found the road. Four minutes late by the time he’d crossed the road and entered the hotel lobby. Slowing to a winded halt inside the lobby, gasping for breath, he surveyed the room.

Yassen strode forward as Alex stumbled to meet him.

“I’m late,” Alex choked, between gasps.

“I’m aware,” Yassen responded, harshly. He grabbed Alex by the shoulder and yanked him forward. “We’re leaving. Now.”

They left through a back entrance, taking a series of alleys and few main roads through the city until they were a fair distance away.

No one pursued them.

Once they had the car again, they stopped at a corner pharmacy for new bandages for Alex’s ankles before taking Yassen drove them to a hotel on the outskirts of the city. Their drive to the hotel allowed Alex a view of the mountains surrounding the city. All the while, his thoughts raced.

Yassen had said he would use the spikes. Then he hadn’t. Alex had been late, Yassen hadn’t known why, and none of the cuffs had been activated. The remote hadn’t even been in hand. Why?

Suspecting that broaching the question would end poorly, Alex focused on the view instead. The setting sun illuminated the mountains with a beauty London didn’t offer. Once again, Alex suspected he’d enjoy their travel plans under different circumstances.

Inside the hotel, Yassen dropped his backpack onto the floor and then gathered first aid supplies. He made Alex sit on the floor of the large bathroom, next to the sink.

Alex was all too eager to take the ankle cuffs off when Yassen de-activated the locks holding them together. “Take the bandages off,” Yassen said, leaving Alex to uncover his ankles from their previous wrapping. Yassen wet a towel and passed it to Alex to clean the wounds.

After cleaning the wounds and applying a fresh layer of disinfectant, Alex leaned back against the wall. Yassen took a seat on the floor next to him, bandages in hand.

“Fuck,” Alex breathed, looking at the places where the spikes had broken skin days ago. “I hate whoever came up with this.”

Yassen didn’t comment.

“Were these your idea?” Alex asked. He’d suspected Yassen of playing a part in the creation of the cuffs for a while, but he hadn’t dared to ask. Now, he needed to know. If Yassen wanted him to survive, why the cuffs? If Yassen wouldn’t use them to their full potential, had it all just been a threat to keep Alex in line?

No, Alex thought, looking over his ankles as Yassen wrapped them again. The cuffs hadn’t quite been just a threat. They’d been used when Yassen thought they were necessary.

“I signed off on them.”

“Were you ever planning to use them?”

“You have seen me use them.”

Alex frowned. “I know that.”

Yassen finished wrapping the gauze around his right ankle and reached for the supplies to wrap the left. “I was prepared to use them. I didn’t plan to use them for any punishment that you hadn’t deserved.”

Alex suppressed a snort. He hadn’t _deserved_ any of this, from the kidnapping, to the torture, or to watching the news helplessly while not knowing what he could be doing to protect people.

Knowing Yassen, the man had a warped view of what the word ‘deserved’ meant. According to Yassen’s employer, Alex deserved torture just because he worked for the opposite side.

“You didn’t use them earlier.”

“Should I have?”

“You said you would,” Alex said. At the museum, he had been terrified that at any second the threat would come true. That spikes would enter his limbs and make it harder to walk inconspicuously, all the while knowing that Yassen would worsen the pain and injury every minute that he was late.

“I thought it was possible that you were delayed. There were obstacles in the way of the destination. Agents were pursuing you.”

“I could have been running away.”

Yassen hummed noncommittedly for a second. “It was unlikely. You knew the consequences of that.”

“I know the consequences of cooperating, too,” Alex pointed out. “I cooperated. And then you tortured me as a show for MI6, just because your boss ordered it.”

“Yes. I’m being paid a lot of money for this job, despite the unpleasant realities it entails.” Yassen finished bandaging Alex’s left ankle. “If you had been much later, I would have known that you were running. Soon after, you would not have been able to run further. I would have caught up with you at that point.”

A sick unease worried at Alex.

“If you kept increasing the spikes, eventually they’d be too deep to remove without killing me.”

“I don’t agree. You would have needed medical assistance once they were removed, if they were extended as far as they could, but with aid you would survive.”

“What if there wasn’t medical aid? Or to get to it, you would have had to drag me past agents?”

“At a certain point, in that situation, I would have needed to leave you for MI6 to find. Then it would be up to them to deal with you.”

And they wouldn’t have a remote to even get the cuffs off, let alone know how deep the steel was in his skin.

There was a chance he could have died if that situation had played out.

Alex fought to keep a steady face. He didn’t want to imagine that possibility. Despite his wishes, he had envisioned that fate, numerous times, over the past days. One of the main reasons he had cooperated with Yassen was to avoid that exact scenario.

“We would both prefer to avoid getting to that point, I think,” Yassen said, steadily. He began to pack away the supplies they’d gotten out. “And we did avoid it. Yes, I was lenient when you were a few minutes late. No, I would not have remained lenient much past that point. But you found me, and we were able to avoid detection. Relax. You’re in no danger now.”

“Yeah,” Alex said. “As long as I keep cooperating, right?”

“Yes.” Yassen stood, first aid kit in hand. He looked at the cuffs pointedly. Alex, mouth pulling into a frown, put the cuffs back on, over the new bandages around his ankles. The snap as the cuffs closed signified another reminder that there was another day left before the end of this situation.

Yassen offered a hand to Alex. Alex accepted the hand and was hauled to his feet.

“What’s tomorrow’s plan?” Alex asked, once they were back in the bedroom. “When do I get to leave? How do I get back to London?”

Perhaps because it was their last day together and Alex didn’t pose much more of a flight risk, Yassen told him their plans. “We’ll travel in the morning. Your employers will be desperate to have you back, and they’ll be searching. They won’t find us. We are taking the car across another national border, and then we will be staying in a small village. I will want to watch the news.”

“When do I get to go free?”

“We will figure it out tomorrow.”

Worry gnawed deep at Alex. There were more than a few concerning remarks hidden in what Yassen had just said. First, Yassen wanted to watch the news. That was expected enough, except Alex had a feeling this time the news mattered. Did Yassen’s employer have a grand finale planned? Another, more vicious attack against MI6, public enough this time to make the news? And then, second, Yassen wouldn’t tell Alex when he was going to be free, both of Yassen and the cuffs. Did that mean Yassen didn’t know? What if Yassen’s employer decided Alex was worth more as a hostage than as a released prisoner?

“Calm,” Yassen told him.

“I am,” Alex lied.

“You aren’t. But you have no reason to panic. I told you that I would let you free, and that I would do so tomorrow. I haven’t lied to you before.”

That could be true. Yassen had once said that Alex’s father worked for SCORPIA, but if Yassen had thought that, truly, he wouldn’t have been the only one deceived.

“I want to know what your boss has planned. That’s all.”

“It doesn’t concern you. You are here, and there’s nothing you can do about it either way.”

“Are others getting hurt because of me?” Alex asked. “Are there people going after the MI6 agents that chase us? Is that why none of them have caught up with us?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?” Alex pressed.

“It takes time to track people,” Yassen said. “And we are not in MI6’s jurisdiction. It takes their time and resources to follow our path. In that sense, you are a waste of their time, since I intend to release you soon, despite their efforts. But you are not an immediate danger to anyone’s health. No one is hurting the agents that follow us.”

“Ok,” Alex said, not entirely reassured.

The English news channel they turned to that night didn’t reveal any new conspiracies, or any acts of mass violence related to Britain, let alone MI6 specifically. His nerves continued to frantically bounce of each other.

Alex tried, without success, to fall asleep. Yassen tied his legs together and bound the rope to the bed before retiring to bed. Alex watched the time tick by on the digital clock on the dresser, listening to Yassen’s slow breathing, and waited to fall asleep himself. Sleep didn’t arrive. Instead, thoughts filled his head, taunting him with potential outcomes of unknown plots that ended with people hurt and dying and dead. Spikes danced in on the periphery of those images, always threatening to impale him where he stood. And finally, the images became scenes of Alex running home to Jack, with an ominous figure just out of sight pressing down on a remote while.

Day Ten

Yassen woke around four in the morning. Alex watched the dark outline of the man sit up in the darkness and reach to turn on the small light between their beds.

Warm yellow light illuminated the room, casting shadows into corners of the room that the light didn’t quite reach.

Alex closed his eyes quickly. His vision had adjusted to the darkness in the past few hours, and the light – while relatively dim - was too bright for his tired eyes.

A quiet shuffle indicated movement. Alex opened his eyes slowly, once he felt he was accustomed to the new influx of light.

Yassen glanced over at him, from where was taking clothes from his bag. “Did you sleep?”

“No,” Alex muttered. Not that he hadn’t tried. He’d counted sheep at one point, until eventually giving up and settling down to stay still enough to not disturb Yassen. Travelling with a exhausted killer could prove even less ideal than the current situation.

Once Yassen had showered and changed into fresh clothes, he untied Alex’s legs.

They didn’t talk as Alex made tea with the room’s electric kettle, and Yassen reorganized the contents of his bag.

“We can leave early,” Yassen said, once Alex had changed and was sitting on the unmade bed, sipping his tea. “There will be less traffic on the road.”

Alex tried to sleep some on the journey to Serbia, but just as he managed to drift off, he woke to hearing Yassen speak with the Serbian border police. One of the officers, a short man with black hair and beady eyes, inspected Alex.

“Your name?” the officer snapped in English, through a thick accent.

“Brian Peters,” Alex said, tired. He knew his current cover name and details well enough. Yassen had made him memorize the details of their current passports each night in the hotel, and he’d either been quizzed each subsequent night to check that he remembered the current cover or handed a new identity to memorize.

“Are you related?”

Yassen looked at him expectantly, as if Alex was only his younger relative, and not someone who jeopardize them both with a sentence. “He’s my cousin,” Alex responded.

After that point, the conversation shifted back to Yassen. Their car was inspected for weapons and goods, although Alex knew by now that Yassen kept his firearm on his person, and for one reason or another – perhaps to do with the money Yassen handed one of the officers – they were let pass without further scrutiny once the car had been looked over.

Afternoon found them, as Yassen had planned, watching the BBC on Yassen’s laptop in a bed and breakfast in Serbia.

By three Alex knew that something was wrong. Yassen’s expression, untroubled as always, gave nothing away, but the man was beginning to frown.

The BBC coverage of the day indicated a cloudless, sunny day in Britain, with business proceeded as per usual. Alex wondered if the problem lay in that alone.

A chill ran down his spine when Yassen’s phone rang.

“Don’t move,” Yassen said simply as he headed for the door to the hall, leaving Alex laying on his bed and watching the laptop propped on the desk across the room.

Yassen returned seconds later, phone in hand.

“Alex,” he said. “It’s for you.”

A sense of foreboding hitting him, Alex took the offered phone. He put it to his ear. “Hello?”

The voice of Yassen’s employer answered him, coldly. “You aren’t going to speak. I don’t want to hear your wretched voice responding. Anything you have to say is irrelevant. Instead, I will say this once, and you will listen.”

Foreboding turned to fear. The menace in the man’s voice, snarling beneath the surface, spoke of untold terrors to come.

“I started this endeavor by bombing the Special Operations division of MI6, but more was to come. Quite a lot more. And it did, believe me. They were spread thin while recovering from the first bombing, dealing with leaks, and pouring over security footage for traces of you.”

“The Royal and General is widely known to the right people as the headquarters of the Special Operations division of MI6, Alex, as you’re no doubt aware. The problem lays in that. Only the right people know of that division. The news turned the bombing into a circus, but MI6 wasn’t thrust into the spotlight and embarrassed for their transgressions against SCORPIA, not in the way I intended. That would come, though, in the finale. I would have left MI6 reeling, and the world would have known that the agency was weaker than anyone had suspected.”

Something had gone wrong – Alex had suspected it already, even before the call. Now he knew it.

The man continued. “There were bombs in the main offices of MI6, at Vauxhall Cross. The world knows it as the headquarters of MI6.” His voice dropped. “They should have gone off twenty-seven minutes ago, by my count.”

Alex glanced at the BBC broadcast on the laptop, now muted. Nothing onscreen indicated a bombing.

“I don’t know how they found the bombs. I don’t care. What I know is, if my revenge can’t be public, it will need to be private. Your bosses may have saved themselves a building and a few hundred employees, but they’ve lost their child spy.”

By the desk, Yassen watched him. Alex stared back, a pit opening in his stomach.

“I told you MI6 ruined your life, Alex Rider,” the man said. “And now they have ended it as well. Put Yassen back on the phone.”

Numb, Alex held out the phone. Yassen moved back to him to take it. He put the phone to his ear.

The rest of the conversation was short. Alex might not have understood the words even if they’d been in English.

Yassen hung up, and pocketed his phone. “Stay still,” he said. His voice held absolutely no room for argument.

Alex didn’t move. He felt as if he’d been shot, already.

Standing over the desk and typing into the computer, Yassen paid him no mind. Minutes crawled by.

Alex glanced out the window, at the view of green hills surrounding the village they were in, the hills dotted with small houses at irregular points. Was this the last place he’d see in his life? The Serbian countryside was hardly where he’d planned to die, despite its serene beauty.

“You’d be dead without me,” Alex said, only distantly hearing his words. If he held any hope that persuasion would convince Yassen to spare him, he might have tried. It wouldn’t work, though. He would beg if it helped, but it wouldn’t either. Instead, he was protesting the unfairness of it all.

“I would not have been in danger without you.”

“That’s not my fault! _You_ kidnapped _me_.”

Yassen glanced behind himself at Alex, frowned minutely, then turned back to typing into his laptop.

Alex wanted to argue more. He didn’t deserve this! MI6 had stopped the plot. He hadn’t been involved!

His head wasn’t in the right place for a futile argument. He would get more worked up, only to be disappointed.

He only had one hope left – a small enough hope. That it would be painless. “Don’t use the cuffs,” Alex said. “I know you don’t want to hurt me. At least do it another way. Shoot me.”

Yassen stopped typing, and turned back to him. “Alex,” the man started.

Alex looked away. “I don’t want to hear it.” He couldn’t bear to hear whatever excuse Yassen had. “I cooperated. I did almost everything you asked. I could have tried to run. You don’t care. You’re getting paid a lot of money, after all.”

Yassen was silent.

The first click made Alex flinch.

The cuff around his right wrist was loose. Immediately after he noticed the bracelet could be removed, Alex took it off.

One by one, the spike cuffs opened, and Alex took them off, dropping them against the floor one by one.

The tension in his stomach drew tight.

He was free, but not safe. He needed to fight if he wanted to stay alive. At least he could fight without fear of immediate retribution.

He needed to fight, and until he was in a position to attack, he needed to stall.

“I want to call home,” Alex said. “I get a final phone call. My friend Jack needs to know what’s been happening.”

“You don’t need a phone call.”

“I don’t care what you think I need!” Alex’s fear now faded behind a backdrop of wanting to defend himself, he could think again, clearly. And he was angry “You promised. You promised to let me go home.”

Empty blue eyes examined him.

“And I listened, and I didn’t cause problems, and I saved your fucking life,” Alex said, viciously. “You’d be dead without me.”

“And you without me,” Yassen remarked. “Will you listen, for a minute?”

Alex swore. Yassen didn’t get to control him anymore – the cuffs were off, the day was nearly done, and there didn’t need to be any more pretense of civility. Yassen tried to interrupt, and Alex swore again, louder than before.

Yassen pressed two fingers against his forehead and exhaled. Alex glared. “Don’t tell me what to do.” There had been enough listening to Yassen in the past ten days.

Annoyance passed over Yassen’s face. He turned back to his laptop, leaving his back to Alex.

Moments passed while Alex simmered and planned. Likely none of his plans would work, but he had to try. Any attempt to survive was better than going to his death willingly.

Yassen broke the silence. “The payment for this expedition has reached my account.”

Congratulations to Yassen then.

“Do you want your flight to London to be tonight, or tomorrow morning?” Yassen inquired, still looking away, at his computer screen.

Head still unable to think clearly, the words made no sense.

“There’s a flight this evening out of Belgrade that will take you to Paris. From there you can catch a connecting flight to London,” Yassen continued. “Or there’s a flight to Heathrow that leaves tomorrow morning.” He looked back at Alex. “Or I can make the choice for you.”

The butterflies in his stomach fluttered in place, uncertain of how to feel.

“Your boss said he’d tell you to kill me.”

Again, an annoyed frown crossed Yassen’s face. “He did. It was not the initial agreement.”

Tentatively, unsure if he could believe Yassen, Alex asked, “You aren’t going to?”

“I told you that I would release you in ten days. They have passed. If my employer has a problem with that, he can track me down in retirement to let me know.”

Alex felt lost for words.

“You didn’t sleep last night. You could use rest before you travel,” Yassen advised.

“I want to go home.”

“The flight leaving tonight, then.”

While Yassen bought the ticket, the potential fallout of survival drifted through Alex’s mind.

“Will your boss come after me? He won’t be happy to hear I’m still alive.”

“If he hears about it, perhaps. But that’s for MI6 to deal with now.”

Mrs. Jones would use the threat of danger against him, to coerce him into taking another mission. Alex could predict the coming meeting, once he’d returned to London. Mr. Crawley showing up on his doorstep, offering him protection for his own good. Protection that came with the tradeoff of Alex offering his services as an agent for a short while.

Yassen would probably say the problem was for Alex to deal with now, as well.

Alex would rather take his chances on his own. He’d tell Mrs. Jones an altered version of his freedom. Anything to stay out of MI6’s grasps. He’d promised Jack another two years before he’d sign anything with the agency.

Thinking of defending himself, what would Yassen do if his employer realized that Alex had survived the kill order?

“He won’t send anyone after you?” Alex asked, dubiously.

“Don’t worry about me.”

“I wasn’t.” Alex drummed his fingers against the mattress. His words sounded harsher to his ears than he’d meant them. “I mean, you said you’re retiring. You’ll probably be hard to find.”

“Ideally, yes.”

“Where will you go?”

Yassen hesitated before he answered. “Russia, eventually.”

The words had the ring of truth.

“Not at first?” Alex asked.

“No.” Yassen didn’t expand, and Alex accepted that there were probably multiple reasons for Yassen to keep his plans secret. “We need to leave soon,” Yassen said, standing, reaching for the laptop to put it away. “Get the cuffs and put them in my bag.”

On the floor, the four mentioned devices lay, reminding Alex of the pain they had brought over the past while, mental and physical. Alex asked, “Would you really have used them? All the way, I mean.”

The resounding and answering silence hurt. Alex brushed the thought to elsewhere, to haunt him another time. The trip from hell had ended. He’d never see the cuffs again, not if he could help it.

He grabbed the cuffs and shoved them into Yassen’s backpack, already happy to be free of the sight of them.

Quiet though the drive to the airport was, Alex thought there was a different quality to the quiet than any previous on the trip. There’d been an unstated understanding: they’d both had the chance to kill the other, in a way, and passed it on. With this last refusal to kill him, Yassen had ended the underlying tension as surely as snuffing the flame of a candle.

“I won’t see you again, will I?” Alex asked, as they passed the second sign for the airport on the highway there.

“You never know. I’d thought you were out of my life already, until this job.”

“You’re retiring.”

“Yes,” Yassen agreed. “And perhaps one day your agency will tell you to hunt me down, for one reason or another. It’s unlikely, but you never know.”

“I wouldn’t do it.”

“By then, it’s possible you would.”

Alex let the disagreement subside until Yassen parked to let him out at the airport. “Your ticket will be waiting when you check in to the airline,” Yassen said.

“That’s it?” Alex asked.

“That’s it,” Yassen agreed. “Go home. Stay out of trouble.”

“Don’t walk up to criminals waiting for me outside my school, or I might get dragged around Europe for ten days?”

“That too.” Yassen reached over and squeezed his shoulder. The gesture comforted him more than the words. “Although I’m sure you would deal with it admirably.”

“Maybe. Or maybe they’d shoot me the first time someone asked.”

“All the more reason to avoid trouble.”

“I’ll try.” Alex promised, unbuckling himself. The backpack he’d carried around the past few days sat at his feet. Ignoring it, Alex got out of the car. None of the clothes in the bag had ever been his, anyway.

With a note of finality in his voice, Yassen said, “Goodbye, little one.”

Alex closed the car door. Cuff-less and holding only the forged passport that he’d entered the country with, Alex entered the airport. It was time to go home.


End file.
